The Gifts and the Wishes
by Kuna Yashmaa
Summary: This is an old Wraith–related story. I’m just resubmitting it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes:** I am grateful to CeeKay Sheppard for editing this story.

* * *

Chapter I,  
in which Major Sheppard chats with the Wraith, about whom the Old One will say eventually: "Never speak to him again. He can talk the Genii into being decent traders."

A warrior is tuned to survive  
and he survives in the best of all possible fashions.  
C.C.

My people have a saying: It is easy to kill the Wraith.  
It is difficult to understand one.  
'Al' the Wraithling

The prisoner curled up on the floor of his cage, forehead pressed to the floor, hair matted and dirty, claws around his head, as if expecting a blow or hoping to scare off an unbearable headache. He didn't try to crawl into the corner anymore, after being stung with the force field, silent, immobile as an odd piece of the old furniture.

"How am I supposed to know what is wrong with it?" Dr. Beckett asked , standing next to Major Sheppard in front of the cage. "I never seen one of them behaving like this before. Did you try to poke it with the stick?"

"I did," the major answered looking at the creature with the mixture of concern and disgust. "I mean, I shot him."

"And?"

"Nothing. Bled for a while. Didn't move, didn't even whimper. I think something is seriously wrong with him. When we found him, he just tried to crawl away, to hide – he didn't attack us, as any of them would. He could try to feed on us – but he didn't. I don't think he can anymore."

"Right. My medical verdict is – let the lad be. He just might come around. For all we know, the bloody things are immortal. I mean _literally_. Unlike you or _me_, for that matter."

"We could just stun him, so you could take a look."

"No. I am not walking into that cage. And _it_ is not coming into my infirmary – I am not endangering my team or my patients for the sake of this monster!"

-o0o-

"I don't know what is wrong with him!" Dr. Beckett exclaimed in frustration, looking down at his new patient. "No visible injures, no internal bleeding, no nothing! And yet his vital signs are close to zero, he's barely breathing, and his temperature is mimicking that of his environment – infrared screening gave me a blank picture! He looks like a toy whose battery has run out."

"That's probably it – he can't feed and his battery has run out," Sheppard said thoughtfully. "But why…"

At this, the patient opened his eyes – in the bright light of the ceiling lamps his huge round pupils instantly narrowed into almost invisible cat-like slits. He hissed and tried to pull away from the humans, all in vain - metal-reinforced restraints kept him pinned to the bed. Dr. Beckett stepped back, looking alarmed.

"Be quiet," said Sheppard. "Be nice. You see, everybody is nice to you, trying to figure out what your problem is, wasting the doctor's valuable time."

Wraith considered that for a second, baring his pointed teeth, and rasped, "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, nothing – it's just what we humans do. Find somebody stuck in the shit, pull them out, clean them up real good," said Sheppard with mocking kindness.

"What do you want?" the Wraith growled . Its yellow eyes looked too alive on his dead-pale face.

"As I said – nothing. We just going to find out what it is you've got, and then give it to the rest of your kind." Sheppard bent over the bed, bringing his face close to the Wraith's, looking him right in the eyes. "And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

The prisoner snarled in anger and jerked, shaking the bed, trying to undo the restraints, his powerful talons ripping the bed sheets under his palms.

"Stop it!" Dr. Beckett cried suddenly, startling Sheppard, and added much more softly, "Just… stop it… You are killing him…"

He was looking at the monitors with a pained expression on his face, pressing fingers to his right temple as if in the throes of a migraine.

Major Sheppard merely shrugged and left the room.

"I'm killing _him_! I wonder what happened to _'it'_ and the _'monster'_?"

-o0o-

"Carson, you look awful," Dr. Weir stated , looking at Dr. Beckett across the table. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm all right, Elisabeth. Really… Nothing to worry about… It's just this guy. He is dying… so very slowly."

"Not a "guy" Carson. The Wraith. He isn't worth your sleepless nights. He is simply incapable of appreciating your efforts. If he wasn't sick, he would die anyway – he would starve to death in his cage."

"I know… I know…" Dr. Beckett looked at the polished surface of the table, trying to find the right words. "It's just… He doesn't even hiss anymore, when I poke him with all those needles. He doesn't open his eyes for days. And I can't find what is wrong with him! It's driving me crazy! I'm sorry, I shouldn't scream," he added hastily, looking up at Dr. Weir for a split second. "Major Sheppard has a theory that this… Wraith… is unable to feed. But I can't find any reason why!"

"Calm down, Carson," said Dr. Weir, not unkindly. "It's a good thing, if a Wraith can't feed, remember? And speaking of Major Sheppard: I specifically requested the new sample for your research."

Dr. Beckett gave her a blank look.

"If safety permits, he will catch another one for you. A better one, even."

Carson felt himself on the verge of screaming, "_I don't want a better one! I want this one_!" but instead he said evenly, "Good. Maybe Exhibit B will know what is wrong with Exhibit A…"

-o0o-

The Wraith threw himself against the bars of his cage, and the merciless force field tossed him back one more time. Dr. Beckett winced. The bloody creature had been doing it over and over again, as if punishing itself for something.

_Most likely for being bloody stupid, and getting caught…_ he winced again.

"Could you please," he began, "stop whatever you are doing? Just for a moment… I… need to talk to you…"

The creature crashed into the field with all available force, landed in the middle of the cage with an angry snarl, made a few small, impatient circles around the floor, and repeated the procedure.

"STOP IT!" Beckett yelled .

The prisoner drew a deep breath and turned to face his visitor. Then he slowly, gracefully moved toward the bars, not taking his strange yellow gaze from the doctor's face, and stopped almost touching the field dividing them, sniffing the air.

_Like an animal… Were-something… were-cat perhaps…_ Dr. Beckett caught himself thinking. _We should establish some Latin name for them… Werehomo iraticus…_

He took a step toward the bars, then another one, trying to find something humanlike in the ghostly features of his opponent, then lowered his gaze. All the usual – white silky hair, long leather-like overcoat, trademark expression - hunger mixed with contempt.

"We have one more of you," Dr. Beckett began.

"One more… of _me_?" The prisoner snorted at the obvious incoherence of this statement.

"Never mind, didn't have much sleep lately," said Beckett, mostly to himself. "He is very, very sick. Could you please look at him?"

Silence.

"I will not close my eyes," the prisoner stated with a humorless smirk.

-o0o-

"Remove the _wall_!" The Wraith was looking down at his fallen comrade through the bars of his cage. "I am unable to _see_ through it!"

The Wraith on the gurney didn't stir – he'd spent last couple of days in this death-like semi-stasis. Restrains kept him fastened to the bed, but at this point even Dr. Beckett didn't believe them necessary – the creature was breathing its last breaths.

"Nonsense!" Dr. Beckett was standing on the other side of the patient's gurney, which he had wheeled right next to the bars. "The field is absolutely transparent!"

"Very well. His head is still attached, I can see _that_. His arms too, and perhaps even his legs." The Wraith in the cage put his fingertips together in front of his face, and was looking above them at the Dr. Beckett with obvious "you are an idiot" expression. "Most likely his physical body is absolutely intact," he declared with confident nod. "Are you satisfied?"

"Then why is he ill?" Dr. Beckett asked. "Why is he..."

"How should _I_ know? _I cannot see through this… wall_."

"But you can see me, obviously!" Dr. Beckett exclaimed.

"I can _smell_ you." The Wraith drew a deep breath and snorted. "I can _feel_ your warmth. I can see your physical body. But I cannot _see_ you."

"I don't understand." Dr. Beckett shook his head sadly and slowly. His eyes were weary and red-rimmed.

"It cannot be helped," the Wraith retorted, and turned his back on the doctor.

"And… if I turn the field off… will you be able… to see?"

"Most likely," the Wraith replied over his shoulder.

Dr. Beckett looked at the silent guards pleadingly. "Maybe for a short period of time?" he asked uncertainly. "What's the worst he can do?"

-o0o-

The prisoner slowly and carefully reached through the bars with his long arm, pressed his palm over the other Wraith's brow, face, throat, then with great precision over his chest, long claws stretched wide.

"Do you have to do that?" Dr. Beckett asked, grimacing. He didn't think the prisoner would reply, but quietly and thoughtfully the Wraith said:

"No. But it helps."

He pulled away and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"So? Did you find out what's wrong with him?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"I will not tell you that, human."

Dr. Beckett was taken aback by the sheer indifference in the creature's voice.

"Then…" he stumbled, "can you heal him?"

"No."

"You murderous son of a bitch," the doctor stated, sleepily rubbing his face with both palms. "Even towards one of your own kind…"

"Do not feel pity for him, human," sneered the Wraith.

"Yes?" Beckett's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What else? Eh? I am who I am, and I will feel pity when _I_ want, and towards whom _I_ want! And not Dr. Weir, not Major Sheppard, not any of you," he stretched his finger towards the shocked guards, "not even you, you bloody monster! No one can tell me _when_ and _what_ should I feel!"

At this moment he realized that he was screaming at the top of his lungs again, and his outstretched finger was almost touching the Wraith's leader-clad chest. He retrieved his hand hastily and stepped back.

"Put the field back on, please. And… please forgive me. I really shouldn't yell like that…"

"Apology accepted."

"I did not apologize to _you_," Dr. Beckett retorted, staring at the prisoner in disbelief – bloody thing, arms still folded in front of its chest, was laughing: baring its creepy teeth, and almost without a sound, but not sneering - clearly laughing, appreciating the absurdity of the situation.

Dr. Beckett waved his hand helplessly and shook his head, preparing to take his patient back to infirmary.

The Wraith's voice was again cold and distant. "You did not understand me correctly, human."

"What do you mean? Can you make him well?"

"No."

"Then we have nothing to talk about."

"Your… pet will die."

"He is not my pet… And he will die anyway, both of you will. You'll starve to death, to be precise, because we cannot offer you any sustenance. So if you don't know how to heal him…"

"I did not say I do not know how to make him well."

"So, you do?"

"Yes," Wraith slowly blinked, but his eyes did not lose their focus. "I know _many_ things."

"Then?"

"For instance, I know how to remove this… wall… _field_ of yours. I only need," he lowered his gaze, searching for the right word, "to _intend_ it to be _out_."

_He's nuts_, Dr. Beckett remarked in privacy of his own head.

"But can I _do_ it? _No_," the Wraith snorted angrily. "However, I know one who can."

"Remove the field?"

"Perhaps."

"I can remove it with the push of a button!"

"But you can not revive your… patient with a push of the same button, can you?"

Dr. Beckett pressed his fingertips to his aching temples. "So, you know someone, somewhere out there, who can heal him?"

"Yes."

"As strange as it might sound to you – you have no idea what a pain in the butt the very process of communication with you is…"

"I share your feelings, human. Usually, I do not _communicate_ with your kind. Not as such."

"Shut up!" the doctor snapped, then closed his eyes for an instant and continued softly. "Just be quiet for a moment. So… There is a… doctor, you know about?"

"He is _not_ a doctor."

"Fine. Not a doctor who can cure him?"

"Yes."

"How do you know him? Did he ever treat you?"

"I do not know him. And I never have been ill."

"I am trying to convince myself that you don't do it intentionally. And it's bloody hard!"

Wraith just gave him an 'it cannot be helped' look.

"All right. All right. You don't know him personally. But you know _about_ him. Where from?"

The prisoner stared at the doctor for a long while, then said:

"It is common knowledge."

"Very good. And where can we find him?"

"I will not tell you that."

Dr. Beckett almost screamed in frustration, when he heard slow applause. Major Sheppard, leaning against the wall at the entrance, clapped his hands few more times and said, "I see you're getting hang of the art of interrogation. Actually, you're much better at it than I am! I hope we're recording all this?"

"Of course," answered one of the guards.

"John, please!" Carson gave the major an upset look. "We are just having a conversation! I never interrogated anyone in my life and never will, if luck permits! There are plenty of others who would enjoy doing it!" The doctor shut his eyes for a second. "I didn't mean it to sound like this, John."

"No offence taken."

"It just requires an enormous precision of mind, and I am so cranky today… But I can do it… We are getting somewhere… You see…"

"I was listening for a while. And please let me take it form here. It's time for the ranking military officer to take over."

"But…"

"No, Carson. Go and get some sleep. And take that… corpse of yours out of here. I have it all covered."

"Conversation with you was quite satisfactory, doctor." The prisoner bowed his head slightly. "I do not think Major Sheppard will make an amusing substitution."

-o0o-

"You know, buddy, time is working against you. And it's going fast," said Sheppard, looking at Wraith's back. "The information you want to sell us has an expiration date – and it's getting close. If the doctor's little friend dies, we don't need that witch doctor of yours."

"He is _not_ a doctor!" The prisoner turned on the spot, sending his silky hair flying in semi-circle, his cat-like eyes glowing.

"Save this stupid game for poor Beckett," said the major, holding his ground. "And tell me, what, exactly, is your proposition?"

"You will be unable to understand."

"Try me." Sheppard produced a marker from the pocket of his military vest and stepped to the nearest wall. "Let's put our trade balance on the wall. We have, as Dr. Beckett puts it, exhibit A. Exhibit A is dying, but Dr. Beckett wants him to live. We, the people of Atlantis, want Dr. Beckett to be happy – it's better that way. That's our first constant. We have exhibit B here, in the cage. He did not announce what he wants exactly, but basically he wants to live too. That is the second constant. And now we have an X. Someone out there - not a doctor, mind you - who can cure an exhibit A, so we can put him back in the cage, where he will eventually starve to death."

"My point exactly." The prisoner gave Sheppard a vicious smile.

"But, it will please Dr. Beckett. I mean the curing part. However, exhibit B here, who claims that X exists, will not give us his address without a concession. So, the question is – what kind of concession does exhibit B require?"

"You do not understand, human," said the Wraith, gazing at the major with his fiery eyes. "It would not help you to know _where_ he is. He does not answer to anyone. He will not listen to you."

"But he'll listen to _you_."

"He will honor the agreement."

"So, what you basically want – is your freedom."

"And transport."

"Oh, yeah… And an elephant in cute pink pajamas…"

"You are even more stupid than I thought," stated the prisoner, and turned his back on the major once again.

"Hey, you!" Sheppard was taken aback. "Why should we be interested in an appointment with someone who can make a _Wraith_ well? And _wish_ the force field _out…_" his voice trailed off.

"I said, _perhaps_," stated prisoner over the shoulder in a calm voice.

"What else?"

Silence.

"Who is he?"

Silence.

"OK. I'll give you a chance. You will tell me all you know about this… _non-doctor_, and if I am interested, you will go and organize the meeting."

The Wraith's snort sounded more like a sigh. "Ask," he turned around and walked close to the bars.

"What do you know about him?"

The prisoner pondered the question for a while, then said, "He is old."

"Old?"

"Very old."

"How old, exactly?"

"I do not have such knowledge. And even if I did know - I would not know how to tell you."

"Is he older than you?"

"Yes."

"And how old are you?"

Silence.

"Come on! You're not an aging lady – what harm will be done, if you tell me?"

"This is my sixth culling."

"Which makes you… well... about three and a half thousand years old. Plus-minus. And you are _not_ old? At least, not _very_?"

"No."

The major bit his lip. "What is his name?"

John had the feeling that Wraith was about to turn his back on him again. But he did not, merely giving the major a look full of hatred - or fear.

"What's the deal with the names anyway? Is it such a secret?"

"No," prisoner lowered his gaze.

"Then what is yours?"

The Wraith screamed angrily and hit the force field with a claw, then jumped back and started to circle the cage, his colorless hair floating after him like a stingray's wings.

Sheppard shrugged. "Sorry I asked."

The prisoner stopped, drew a deep breath, and calmly walked toward the bars. "Even if this _wall_ were not here, you would not be able to _see_ it, human."

"Your name?"

"Yes."

"OK. That's interesting. What about the Old One? Has he got…"

The Wraith stared. The pupils of his eyes dilated widely and narrowed again, he snorted and looked down.

"So I guessed right," Sheppard said slowly.

The Wraith's white eyelashes flickered.

"So he's got a name that one can pronounce, not just see. And his name is the Old One. Or some analog… I wonder why… Does his see-name bring bad luck or something?"

"No." The prisoner looked tired.

"Then…"

"It is impossible to use."

"Ok. Impossible to use. Good. By the way – is he one of your kind?"

"He is different."

"I realize that. But does he… cull people?"

"He does not participate in cullings."

Sheppard looked at the Wraith in disbelief. "Doesn't like it?"

"He does not need to. He feeds constantly." The Wraith gave a creepy smile and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "_He never sleeps_."

"Got any… family? Clan? Or whatever you call it?" The major felt himself grimacing in disgust but couldn't help it.

"He is alone."

"He is alone, he feeds constantly – he should've been killed millennia ago! Just by probability laws! Somebody, somewhere, would figure out the way!"

"His people feed him freely." That wicked smile was starting to get on the major's nerves.

"He has _people_?!"

"He has the _world_."

"A planet? All for himself?"

"The World. Six suns. Ten inhabited planets. Billions of people."

"Damned old SOB. I can only imagine how much you guys… love him. And no one ever tried to take it from him?"

"We have an agreement," the prisoner stated haughtily.

Sheppard gave a short laugh. "I believe you!"

"We _do_ have an agreement." The prisoner narrowed his eyes.

"As I said – I believe you! You leave his… _world_ alone, he does something for you in return. But that's not the reason you haven't grabbed it yet. You can't! He has a way to stop you! Is he a sorcerer of some sort?"

"He is not!" the prisoner growled.

"Well, that's a matter of definition. For me, all of this sounds like magic. Can he take a spaceship from the sky just by wishing so?"

"He never did," the Wraith lowered his gaze.

"Can he?" John felt tiny tingles of triumph all over his body.

"Perhaps."

"So, you want your freedom and your dart… transport? And in exchange you will let us meet the guy, who can take the entire Wraith fleet from the sky in a blink of his eye? I think you got yourself a deal. But why? Wouldn't the others be mad at you?"

Silence.

"Or would they?" the major continued pensively. "You hope that we might be even less amused with his warm personality than you guys are… Don't you? If we get him – his world is yours. If he gets us – Atlantis, or what's left, is yours. Maybe both. But try to imagine – we will find a common ground?"

"Do not dream for things which are much too big for you, human. Your..." the Wraith moved his hairless eyebrows up and down, "might collapse."

Major Sheppard felt the strongest urge to empty the entire P90 magazine into the Wraith's mocking smirk.

-o0o-

"He was tied up and blindfolded when we brought him here. He couldn't see the gate address. So we will do the same thing – leave him on some uninhabited world together with his dart, and set up some meeting place for this Wraith sorcerer, the Old One."

"If he exists," Dr. Weir interrupted.

Sheppard grimaced. "Oh, he exists, all right."

"How can you be so sure?"

"That kind of fib would be too complicated for a Wraith."

"Never underestimate your…" Dr. Weir began.

"That's not what I mean!" the major exclaimed irritably. "With the all the nasty things we can say about them – they seem to never lie. Oh, they do understand the _concept_, they do know that humans can say things that aren't true. Maybe they despise lies, maybe they find them unnecessary, maybe they consider us not worthy of lies, to unimportant, I don't know! But the fact is – they don't lie. Even for the sake of self-preservation. At least I never heard one lie!"

"We saw very few of them," Dr. Weir continued doubtfully. "We don't know anything about their morals, or conducts, or… And it's only one side of the story. Do you realize that, Sorcerer or not, this, _our_ Wraith will continue to kill?"

"Of course I do! But there are millions of them – one more, one less, it won't make much difference. I know it sounds wrong! But maybe there's a way to stop the killings altogether! May be we can offer the Old One something he likes?"

"If he exists…"

"Oh, he exists, all right."

-o0o-

"How are you feeling there?" Major Sheppard asked, tapping lightly on the side of a rather small metal container that sat on a cart in front of the Stargate.

Silence.

Without further hesitation, the major hit the box with his handgun. Deafened, the Wraith yelped, then said calmly, "It is very dark, Major Sheppard, and I cannot move, and my entire body tingles because you stunned me. But I will live."

"Glad to hear that."

"There was no reason to treat me like this."

"Right."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II  
in which the Old One cures the Wraith, waltzes with Dr. Weir, and punches Teyla in the face.

A warrior acts as if he knows what he is doing,  
when in effect he knows nothing.  
C.C.

My people have a saying:  
Who doesn't want to fight, comes with superior force.  
"Al" the Wraithling

"Incoming message," the technician reported, looking at the glistening puddle of the activated Stargate, somewhat dimmed by the energy shield. "It's a Wraith dart. He asks permission to enter. He says he was 'officially invited to come'."

"He was not invited to come _here_," Dr. Weir pointed out. "Tell him to go to the rendezvous point!"

"He says he doesn't have time. Should we lower the shield?"

"No!"

"Elizabeth, those people depend on the guy!" Major Sheppard came running into the Gate hall.

"No. He is not coming here. Who knows what his intentions are? _And who lowered the shield_?"

"It lowered itself," the technician whispered, holding his hands above console as if in fear that it might sting him.

"And you want to slow down!" the major screamed into his headset, not at all sure that he would be heard. "It's a confined…"

And then the world exploded with deafening roar on all audible frequencies. The dart entered the hall with such velocity that no one saw its actual flight. The transport simply appeared out of thin air: an unexpectedly huge silvery thing suspended in midair, its dagger-pointed prow barely piercing the large plastic shield in front of console deck. The following silence was as deafening as the noise a second before.

"…environment on the other side," Sheppard finished, thinking to himself, _A hell of a pilot. Or had he just __**wished**__ the thing into stopping_?

The dart pulled back, accurately released its prow from the remains of plastic shield, lost altitude and came to a full stop in the middle of the room, a couple of feet from the floor. The cockpit opened up like a moth's wings, strangely elegant and delicate. Its leather-clad occupant drew himself to his full height and folded his arms, calmly observing the multiple firearms all pointed in his direction.

_Wow_, said Sheppard to himself.

For it was not _a_ Wraith. It was _the_ Wraith.

His skin was almost pure white, with a barely noticeable bluish tint; his hair, heavy as old silver, was so silky it had sparks in it; his eyes shone like jars of July honey touched by the afternoon sun; his leader-like overcoat was black as a starless night, complementing the graceful contours of his tall, lean and powerful body.

The silence, punctured by whining of one of the Ancient machines, continued for a long while.

"I apologize… for this intrusion," the Wraith's voice was low and hoarse. "I should have guessed that _the environment on the other side will be confined_. Because of the thing…" he paused, "the _curtain_ on the door."

"The shield," Major Sheppard suggested.

The guest pondered over a suggestion for a second, then bowed his head slightly with a "so be it" expression on his face.

Then he merely turned his head, a technician yelped "holy smokes!" and it was so - sad little puffs of smoke coming from a suddenly silent device.

"It was making a noise," the Wraith explained and added reassuringly, "I shall repair your things later."

"Oh, never mind!" said Rodney McKay, who was watching the spectacle from a safe distance at the hall entrance. "And don't you think that the idea of a Wraith repairing the Wraith detecting machine is a bit… decadent?"

"Was it a Wraith detecting machine?" the guest inquired calmly. "How very interesting."

Rodney slapped his hips in frustration. "Then how did you," the unspoken 'moron' hung in the air, "plan to repair it, if you don't even know what it is?"

"I just know how things work," The Wraith said thoughtfully, frowning. "Mechanisms, organisms – it does not matter. For instance – you should not develop so much of that…" the Wraith's long, thin, taloned finger drew an oval in the air, "soft substance all around your body. It is bad for your well-being. That one," the claw pointed at Major Sheppard, "is in much better condition than you are. Although his upstairs wiring…" the Wraith grimaced and concluded, "is not very good. Yours," the Wraith turned his head back to Dr McKay, "is… impressive, it is almost as good as it can be with the thinking machine of this design. I can repair you both, if you wish so."

"_No doubt_," whispered Rodney.

"Thank you, I'll manage," Sheppard forced out. He stepped back toward Dr. McKay and whispered, "Did you hear that? SOB just called me a moron in my very face."

"Relax," Rodney whispered back. "He just called _me_ a fat ass."

"As you wish," the Wraith bowed slightly and seemed to simply rematerialize standing on the floor of the hall. His movement was so fast and flawless that it appeared almost magical. Shocked people jerked the firearms towards his new position. The visitor turned his head slightly, and the dart - stern first - moved up and above the Stargate and halted suspended in the midair, silent and menacing, like the Yule Cat.

"Out of the way. And children should not play with forbidden things," the Old One explained.

"There are no children in Atlantis," Rodney stated and met the eyes of the Wraith, golden and full of laughter.

"And now, would any of you care to escort me to the one that needs repair?" the guest asked politely.

Nobody moved. The Wraith took a careful step forward, then another one, then halted and snorted, revealing a perfect set of pointed teeth, looking and sounding very Wraith-like. One of the Marines gave a short cry and dropped his P90 on the floor, where it exploded with a small, depressing puff.

"It is hardly advisable to trust firearms in the hands of mentally unstable individuals," the Old One stated coldly. "It is not my wish to fight you," he continued when no one moved. "I will kill many. All of you, to be exact."

Dr. Weir, who could not find her voice during entire event, stepped forward and ordered with her "don't even think to argue" expression, "Major Sheppard, would you be so kind as to escort Mr.… our guest to the infirmary?"

The Old One looked at her and smiled. It was such a warm, soft, sad, and almost shy smile, that Elizabeth caught herself smiling back. Against all reason, smiling back at this cold, ancient, life-sucking creature.

"I almost forgot how enjoyable conversation with people can be. I have not had much practice lately," said the Wraith in quiet voice.

"How long?" she heard herself asking.

And to her astonishment, the guest answered in the same quiet, thoughtful tone, "The last people with whom I spoke for pleasure lived more then five hundred generations ado. The last of them died… was killed recently. But we did not see each other for a long time…"

-o0o-

The Wraith drifted down the corridor with an almost inaudible rustle of his leather garments, his hands clasped behind his back, and his long silky hair flying. The fiery arch of corridor lamps followed his progress into the depths of the Atlantis. His swift stride forced Major Sheppard and his team into an embarrassing semi-trot.

"I still can't believe he called me a fat ass," Dr. McKay complained in an annoyed whisper. "I can imagine why his kind hates him!"

"For different reasons than you, I assure you," noted the Wraith over his shoulder. "Only humans have such a…" the Wraith's deadly fingers made slow grabbing motion, "_monumental_ sense of self-importance."

-o0o-

"Please, leave me alone!" an upset voice came from behind the closed door.

The Wraith raised his claw and knocked on the door again – a dry, bony sound.

The door slid aside, and Dr. Beckett, without so much as looking to see who was in front of him, smacked square into the unwanted visitor's chest and reflexively tried to push him away. The Wraith merely looked down at the human's hand over the black leather of his coat, then slammed his left claw over it, holding it still. In the next split second, the Wraith smashed his right hand into the doctor's chest and shoved him into the room. For a moment they kept this strange embrace. Sheppard thought that Beckett was going to squeak and pass out, but the doctor only looked up without any sign of surprise and said wearily, pulling himself away, "Not another one, John… The first one almost put me in an early grave…"

"You need rest, human," said the guest in his low raspy voice.

He still jammed doctor's hand close to his chest, and now he reached with his other arm and touched Beckett's temple.

"Are you a doctor?" asked Carson, still completely unfazed.

"No."

"Good… I was waiting… I don't know what else to do… He's here, but I don't know if he's still alive."

The Wraith released him, and looked at the doctor tentatively.

"Come," Dr. Beckett beckoned, walking somewhere behind the lab benches full of equipment. "Everybody else – out of here!"

-o0o-

The Old One stood over the dying Wraith, tilting his head to one side, then to the other, sniffing the air.

"Is he going to be well?" the doctor asked with visible concern, trying to catch the eye of the Wraith-sorcerer.

"Why are you not asleep as I told you?" the Wraith turned on the spot and took doctors head with both hands. Despite the dreadful appearance, touch of the Wraith's claws was not frightening. Beckett felt his headache, which had become chronic during last weeks, melting, and his irritability dissipating, pushed away by the confident feeling that everything was going to be all right.

The doctor eased himself onto the gurney next to the patient's. "Can I help?"

"Yes, you can," the Old One said, semi-smiling. "Take his restraints off. And go to sleep."

Dr. Beckett unlocked the metal-reinforced leather bracelets, releasing the wrists, ankles and neck of the patient. For all he knew, the Wraith on the bed looked as dead as a stone.

"Is he hibernating?"

"No. He is too low on energy. He is dying."

"What's wrong with him? I tried to examine him, but…"

"You do not want to know, human," the Old One flashed the same brief semi-smile.

"Oh, yes I do!" Dr. Beckett exclaimed. "I thought I would die myself, trying to find out!"

"You are persistent," the Old One observed and continued, "Actually, it is quite embarrassing. He is a greedy fool. He ate too much, too fast. Energy was not distributed and stored properly, he became unable to feed and almost starved to death. It happens to some at the first culling, not at the fourth one… Are you satisfied?"

"How much… how many did he…"

"I will not tell you that. Sleep and let me do my work!" the Wraith reached with his left arm and pressed two fingertips to doctor's temple.

Beckett blinked and slowly fell across the gurney, his eyes closing, two bloody marks on the side of his forehead.

The Wraith carefully rearranged the doctor's body along the bed, then took a fresh bed sheet from the pile, and covered the doctor like a corpse – head to toe.

Then he unfastened his coat, took the other Wraith's unresisting hand, and pressed it to his bare chest, holding it fast. He snorted quietly, and stabbed his claw into the chest of dying Wraith, puncturing it deeply.

-o0o-

"AAAAAAGRH!" Dr. McKay tried to get out from underneath the Ancient device and hit his head on the corner of the control panel. "F… SON OF A BITCH!"

"What's wrong, Rodney?" Dr. Weir was looking at scientist with concern.

Dr. McKay just rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Our guest fried the poor machine in twenty places," the technician said, smiling apologetically.

"In twenty-three, to be exact," Rodney's voice was full of poison. "And to get to any of those places, I had to disembowel the entire block. And every time we try to bring machine back online, something else gets fried!"

He picked himself up from the floor, brushing invisible dust from his pants.

"Try her again, and see what happens…"

The screen cleared, dutifully showing the life-signs of the people in the Stargate room.

"Beautiful," Rodney breathed. "Now let us check on our guest…"

He touched controls, and the machine showed ward #3 – two white signs corresponding to the humans just outside of the door, three inside – one white and two pink ones, all steady.

"Gorgeous," Dr. McKay murmured. "All is well in the Kingdom of Atlantis…"

"It can't be right," the technician was peering over the Rodney's shoulder. "They are identical… I mean the Wraith."

"Of course, they are identical," said Dr. McKay impatiently. "They are, well, both Wraith. People are identical for this machine, and the Wraith…"

"He did not look like that, when he arrived," whispered the technician. "He _blinded_ the screen! He looked… like a sun…"

-o0o-

"I knew how every machine in Atlantis works! Every last one of them! I could actually see an electron gas – how it floats down the wiring! I could make it go wherever I wanted! It felt so…" Dr. McKay gasped for words, "wonderful!"

"Can you do it now?" Sheppard asked, but Rodney could see that the major's thoughts were elsewhere. He seemed to be preoccupied with the reflections in the polished surface of the table.

"That's not the point! It felt so…"

"I miss him so much…" said Dr. Weir in a small voice.

"Whom?" McKay looked at her in surprise, and saw the glistering stripe on the side of her face, tiny droplet gleaming on the very end of her chin. Before the second tear could run from her eye, she dropped her head on her elbow, sobbing silently.

"Si… Simon…" followed by more convulsive sobs. Sheppard got to his feet, walked around the table towards Elizabeth's chair, and just stood there, silent, looking at the back of her head, at her quivering shoulders. Rodney noticed how pale he was, and the dark shadows which lay around his usually alert, but now empty and tired eyes.

"What did you see?" Sheppard asked gently.

She continued to cry.

"Elizabeth, look at me," John wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, but hesitated. "Please, tell me what your dream was about."

Dr. Weir got up and went to the large window overlooking the Gate room. She stood there for a while, with her back to her friends, then said quietly:

"It was a dress."

The major gave her back a faint smile. "Dress is a good sign."

"It was white," Dr. Weir continued, not listening. "It was very beautiful. I never had such a one, not even for my wedding… my wedding with Simon. It was a dress from the Civil War times, the ball gown. And I was wearing it, and I was in the great hall – I couldn't see the walls – it was dark. And then I saw Simon…"

She shivered and moved her shoulders uncomfortably, hugging herself as if she was cold.

"He was wearing something strange – a dark, floor-length garment, and he was smiling at me. Then there was music – a waltz – coming from everywhere. I'd never heard this one before… And we were waltzing, floating in the waves of the music, a lonely couple in the enormous dark hall, my white dress and his wide black coat forming a perfect circle, if one would look from above…"

"And then you realized _who_ it really was," Sheppard continued gently.

Elisabeth's back froze. Then she gave a small nod and said, "But it was OK. I should have felt frightened or revolted, but I didn't. His body was so… slender, and hard as a metal, and so powerful… but also elegant and graceful. He is a magnificent dancer…"

"He is _not_," John sighed. "He is magnificent conjurer, that's all. I talked to the others this morning - all of them dreamed something strange."

"What did _you_ see?" Rodney asked, looking at the major's tired face.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's not fair! After all, I told you _my_ dream!" Dr. McKay began and stopped himself, considering the expression on Sheppard's face. "On the other hand, you might have seen _nothing_… You didn't sleep at all, did you? Unless you were stealing the chocolate sauce from the kitchen…"

"I didn't touch your chocolate sauce," Sheppard replied wearily.

"Of course not. You were just sitting there, in the darkness, like an owl... You scared living hell out of me! John, what's wrong?"

"Nothing… Damned creature just hates me for some reason. I wonder, why?"

"Who is guarding the infirmary now?" Dr. Weir's eyes were red, but she seemed to have composed herself.

"Sergeant Bates," Sheppard replied after quick look at his watch. "Teyla should relieve him in fifteen minutes. I'll go…"

"You should get some rest, Major."

"Sure. I just don't think it's possible while that apparition is hanging around. I can handle it… Some good still might come out of all this."

-o0o-

Dr. Beckett opened his eyes and saw only white. He stirred, pulled the bed sheet away from his face, and noticed the familiar motionless shape on the other bed. Carson picked himself up and proceeded with his usual routine. To his surprise, the monitors showed only blank screens, all the lines disconnected and hanging down to the floor. The doctor bent down and looked at the pale, inert face of his patient. He tried to rearrange the pillow to make the dying Wraith more comfortable, failed, then carefully pushed his hand underneath the Wraith's head, feeling smooth strands of creature's hair sliding along his palm… and halted in horror. The suddenly open eyes of his patient had the golden quality of melted butter; contracted in the bright light, the pupils looked like thin vertical lines. The Wraith was observing the doctor's manipulations with a calm interest. Beckett slowly and cautiously pulled his hand from underneath his patient's head, stepped back, and sat on the other gurney.

"He will not harm you." The Old One was standing like a dark shadow against the white wall.

At the sound of this voice, the dying Wraith jumped. From the 'flat on the back' position, he went into 'all four on the floor' in a split second, sending his gurney flying into the bench crammed with equipment. It fell on its side, followed by an avalanche of glassware. The Wraith got to his feet, made a little uncertain sound, then staggered and crouched back, looking at the other Wraith in sheer terror.

"Not all of _us_ are smart. Some are not even clever," the Old One noted.

The sound of the sliding door from beyond the mountain ridges of laboratory equipment was followed by Sheppard's cry, "Are you all right there, Carson?"

"Yes, John."

"Need help?"

"No, we are all fine! It was just an accident. Please, do not come in."

The sick Wraith looked in the direction of Sheppard's voice, and made another attempt to bring his body into an upright position. He managed to steady himself, but it was obvious that his legs were giving way. Apparently, modesty was not one of the Wraith's qualities, or he was too preoccupied with keeping his balance, but the bloody creature just stood there in the middle of the ward, swaying slightly, dressed only in his waist-long hair, washed with the light of the strong ceiling lamps. Dr. Beckett winced and looked aside.

"Where do you keep his clothes?" the Old One asked. "If improperly dressed, one of _us_ is a pitiful sight for a human eye. Especially such a poor excuse for a noble being."

"Pitiful? Are you out of your bloody…" The doctor stole one more peek at his patient. "Anyway, it's certainly not the term I would use…"

_I wonder how many girls would fancy him_... Carson caught himself thinking, and small nasty voice in his head added sarcastically: ..._Because he would fancy them__**all**_.

Despite the deadliest of appearances, the Wraith in the middle of the room was a sight to look at. Preferably through the bars of the locked cage, but… He was way too narrow in the hips for a human standard, and the factory which made the creature was obviously short on fat supplies, but his broad-shouldered, lean-muscled body was the body of a fighter, a predator – reliable and always ready for action. His colorless, thick, and silky hair was gleaming in the bright light. His talons were long, sharp and clean. The doctor noted the fresh feeding mark on the creature's chest and looked at the Old One.

"I do not question _your_ methods," the Wraith-sorcerer responded with a smirk.

-o0o-

"Your clothes are clean." The doctor pushed a large plastic box along the floor towards the patient. "I took tiny samples here and there, but overall they are intact."

The Wraith clawed the box open, sniffed at the contents and hastily put on his garments – leather breeches, boots, floor-long overcoat.

"Do not fasten it," said the Old One, and the other Wraith obeyed without questioning. He pulled his hair from underneath of the coat and let it fall over his shoulders, pushed loose strands from his face, and halted, holding his head in both hands. Then he carefully chose one strand, brought it to his face and examined it intently.

"Can he talk?" Dr. Beckett whispered.

"He is an imbecile," the voice of the Old One was indifferent. "I do not know."

"My hair…" said the Wraith in a quiet, hoarse voice, and looked at Carson with a thoughtful expression. "It is not matted anymore…"

"You were filthy. I had to wash you, and your hair, and comb it through. It was that, or crop it off."

The Wraith grabbed his hair as if somebody was trying to crop it off right away. Then he relaxed a little, gathered the strands from his face into a ponytail, and expertly plaited them at the back of his head. Next, and with the same dexterity, he plaited his beard braids, and secured them at the ends with small knots.

"Thank you," he said quietly to Dr. Beckett, "for not cropping my hair…"

"Don't mention it," Carson waved his hand. "I had nothing else to do. You were not responding to any treatment, and…"

The Wraith moved. He was not all that steady on his feet yet, but the doctor didn't like the purposefulness of his stare, and even less so direction of his motion.

"Stay away from me!" he cried involuntarily, and stepped behind the bed.

The Wraith halted, still staring at the doctor, then blinked and looked away.

"Am I that disgusting to you, human?" he asked flatly.

"No," Carson replied. "But you are very scary. I mean, _very_."

"You could touch me, when I was tied up and weak."

"You see, it's _logical_," Carson smiled faintly.

"He is a fool," the Old One stated.

"He is not!" Beckett was surprised to hear resentment in his own voice. "He is just confused!"

The Old One gave him a humorless smirk. Then he looked at the other Wraith, cocking his head to the side. The Wraith hissed, terror stealing through his features once again. He looked around frantically, as if in search of an escape route, then glanced at the Old One and took a step towards him as if pulled by an invisible leash.

"He _is_ a fool," the Old One repeated, and jerked the invisible bridle.

The other Wraith made a small sound and came little closer.

"Now!" the Old One growled.

"I can sympathize with your fear," the Wraith looked at Carson with a strange expression on his face. "If you feel toward me what I am feeling right now…"

"Enough of this!" The Old One stepped forward, grabbed the other Wraith by the collar of his coat, and threw him against the wall back first. Then he advanced and with low growl smashed his right claw over the first feeding mark on the bare chest of his opponent, with his left unfastening his own coat. Carson saw the limp body of his patient pushed up against the wall, his feet leaving the ground.

"Stop it!" he cried and threw his body against the outstretched arm of the Old One. In a second Carson realized that with the same success he could try to bend a _rail_. That he could probably do pull-ups on this arm without bothering the owner a bit. If he _could_ do pull-ups.

Both Wraith were looking at him with the same curious expression on their faces. Then the Old One loosened his grip a bit, letting the other one stand on the floor.

"He is trying to help," the sick Wraith explained in a strangled whisper. "But he is so _huge_. My _body_ is afraid of him."

Beckett looked at the Old Wraith. Elegant and lanky, he was anything but huge. Then he saw the fresh feeding mark upon his chest, very similar to one on the chest of his patient.

"But…" stumbled Carson. "Shouldn't you heal right away?"

Old One followed the direction of the doctor's gaze. "_Touch_ stays forever. It will fade with time, but it will not disappear." He added with a smile, "Let us finish. It will not take long."

Carson realized that he was still hanging from the Old Wraith's arm. He released his grip hastily and stepped back.

"Can I… watch?"

"Please do," the Old One responded without looking at him.

It was not as scary as the doctor expected. The sick Wraith reached with his right arm and with great accuracy placed his claw upon the previous feeding mark on the chest of the Old One. They held this stance for less than a minute, then the Old One freed his patient, letting him slide to the floor.

Dr. Beckett felt two equally strong urges: to help the Wraith to his feet, and to move to the relative safety behind the gurney. Apparently sensing his hesitation, the Old One picked the other Wraith up by the collar of his coat and let him stand leaning against the wall.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Beckett asked carefully.

"Alive." The Wraith looked at the doctor intently and made a small move toward him, the shoulder of his leather coat rustling against the wall.

Carson quickly moved behind the gurney. The Wraith halted and took his eerie stare away from the doctor's face.

"I will not harm you, human," said the Wraith flatly, still looking aside. "I will not harm you to save my own life."

He turned his head and looked at the Old One with a strange determination in his gaze.

"No."

More staring.

"No. You are weak. And he is not one of _us_ – what would it do to him?"

"What would what do to whom?" Carson asked, confused with the all the staring-games.

The Old One grimaced. "The Exchange."

"What is it?"

"It is a… ritual. Any two of my kind can do it, if they have… an affinity for each other."

"How do they do it?"

"For a stranger it looks… like the healing procedure you just saw. It is much simpler, though. Any one of my kind can do it."

"What does it do?"

"It makes marks upon the _names_ of the both of them. So others would see that they are… allies. But you do not want to do it. Not with this fool, anyway," the Old One showed his pointed teeth in an evil smile.

"He is not a fool," Carson objected absentmindedly. "I probably don't want to do it anyway, but just out of curiosity – aren't both participants supposed to be Wraith?"

"Of course."

"What would it do to a human?"

"I have no idea. It has never been done for a human."

"Would it make me a Wraith?"

"No."

"Anyway, it doesn't sound like something that I want to do. Sorry." He looked at his patient, whose face was carefully blank. "And again, a mark of the Wraith energy upon my… name… will not be visible for my human friends. But what would a human mark do to your reputation?"

The Old One chuckled softly. "You were right. He is not as stupid as he looks. Not a human mark. _The Human mark_ – the mark of the only human ever existed who cannot be harmed by my kind."

"What do you mean?" For some reason, Dr. Beckett felt terror instead of relief or curiosity.

"They deliberately endangered my life, sending me here. It is against our agreement. They had owed me a _wish_. My wish was that you would forever go unharmed. Now you can walk through a space ship full of my kind, and if you pose no threat, they will have to step aside. I would not suggest you do it intentionally, though, because it is not wise to play with our desire to feed ourselves."

"You told them so? What did you do _that_ for?" The very thought that every Wraith in the Pegasus Galaxy knew about his existence, made Carson feel utterly uncomfortable.

"Human minds are very… disorganized. Please forgive me, if I guessed your wish wrong," said the Old One meekly, but Dr. Beckett would never try to interpret the expression of those yellow eyes. They were like whirlpools, filled with a perfect blend of sincerity and laughter.

-o0o-

The corridor leading out of the infirmary was blocked by a group of military personnel.

"Where do you think you're going?" An orange-complexioned woman was looking at both Wraith with visible contempt.

"I do not like to leave my people for long, not at the time of sedition."

Wraith all look alike to a human eye. These two were no exception: same height, same posture, same pallid skin, same yellow eyes, similar garments. But Teyla immediately guessed which one posed a real danger.

"I came because you summoned me, and I came by my own will. It is time for me to go."

"You can go, we have no quarrel with you," Teyla responded. "But the other one is a prisoner of war. He will stay."

The Wraith on the left bared his teeth and made a small move towards the people. The Old One simply stretched his arm and without visible effort shoved the other Wraith behind his back.

"You cannot keep him as a prisoner – you have no means to sustain him. He will starve to death."

"Then so be it," Teyla narrowed her eyes.

The Old One cocked his head slightly, looked at her for a while, then said in an almost meditative tone,

"I remember you."

"I don't!"

"What a fine specimen you were…" the Old One continued musingly. "Strange that you managed to survive. And I failed you so miserably. Please, forgive me, child."

"I am _not_ your child!"

"But you are. I sense it in you."

"So it was you," said the woman, her voice is dangerously calm. "_You_ were experimenting on us…"

What happened next, happened very fast. Teyla threw her body forward and to the left, aiming the P90. The Old One was a blur, and the next moment Teyla was flying through the air back first, her weapon clanging on the floor. She knocked down two soldiers in her progress and landed at Major Sheppard's feet, just as he arrived. She tried to get up, but collapsed again.

"No one move!" the major ordered.

"So you found my little sanctuary," the Wraith continued in the same thoughtful tone, as though nothing had happened. "Well, it was an entirely incorrect concept. Such good specimens, and all I got was a bouquet of semi-telepathic weaklings."

"What were you trying to make?" Sheppard looked perfectly calm.

"I did not have a slightest idea," the Old One shrugged. "And I did not succeed, anyway. Not until much later."

"For me she is nearly perfect," said Sheppard with a sigh, helping Teyla to her feet. "No thanks to you."

-o0o-

"It is not my wish to fight you," the Old One repeated. "But what kind of choice do I have?"

"Wait! All of you!" Dr. Beckett was out of breath from the fast run. "I knew it would be something like this! I told you!"

He rushed by his former patient, grabbed the Old Wraith by the shoulder and tried to turn him around. In his hurry, the doctor forgot that even the 'poor excuse' for a Wraith weighs well above three hundred pounds, not to mention the properly fed Wraith-sorcerer. As result Carson almost flew around his opponent, and came to a full stop right in front of him. Beckett looked up into those inhumanly calm eyes, and said, "Do it. I want it to be done!"

And saw the flowing motion in the corner of his eye – other Wraith was staring at him in visible astonishment.

-o0o-

"Dr. Weir, Beckett has lost his mind," said Sheppard, activating his headset. "He is going to have some kind of sex with _both_ of our guests, right in front of my very eyes!"

Carson turned to face the major, his eyes tired and sad. They stared at each other for a while, then Sheppard looked away. "What?"

"That was… a very dirty thing to say, John," Dr. Beckett noted flatly.

"But it worked. I _had to_ stop you. You are compromised, Carson. Look at yourself! You are acting like a maniac, your face is all bloody!"

"And whose fault is that, pray tell? Who got me into this? Who brought the first one, and the second, and the _third_? Who volunteered, no, you just listen to this, _volunteered_ me for this mission? Eh?"

"It doesn't mean that you should sleep with… I mean in one room… I mean…" the major's voice trailed off.

"You say I am compromised. No. _Not just yet_." Carson shook his head and turned to the Old One.

"Do it."


	3. Chapter 3

Top of Form

Chapter III,  
in which the Old One changes the names of the Wraith and the Human, and tells the story of his life.

A warrior acknowledges his pain  
but he doesn't indulge in it.  
C.C.

Our union, however pleasant it might be,  
would be totally fruitless.  
'Al' the Wraithling

_If I scream, they will shoot us all_… Beckett bit his lip.  
The Old One was holding him tight, his beard braids touching the doctor's shoulder, his left palm like a red-hot iron against the doctor's ribcage.

"Put your hand on top of mine," the Wraith's whisper rustled in Carson's ear.

Beckett obeyed, noticing that the Wraith's fingers were almost twice as long as his own. Slowly and with great precision, the Old One placed his claw on the chest of the other Wraith, the doctor's fingers upon his own, and as if in response to this, the other creature reached with his deadly-looking hand and carefully placed it upon the doctor's bare chest.

"_Oh, God_," Carson gasped, and pressed his left hand to his heart, on the top of the Wraith's feeding claw. "Oh… God…"

Faces, millions of faces were swirling in front of the doctor's eyes – faces those who had been taken, consumed, who had died in anguish, agony and despair. Pain was drifting along Beckett's right arm, down to his chest and into the hand of his former patient. Something else was entering through the claw of the Old One right into Carson's ribcage. A cold wind was blowing inside of the world in front of the doctor's eyes; it gathered dead faces and brushed them away like October leaves. And Carson saw… At first he couldn't understand what it was he was seeing, and then…

"Is that his _name_?" he heard himself asking, and the quiet whisper in his left ear responded, "No. It is the way your brain interprets it. You are not trained to see it directly."

"It's so… _magnificent_…"

The Wraith's _name_ looked like an enormous plane made of polished obsidian, a black, perfectly flat surface, gleaming in the invisible light. Beckett was floating above this plane in his vision, pain forgotten, death omitted, when he was pulled back as if on a rubber string. He almost screamed in frustration, and saw the Wraith's face right in front of him. His former patient, eyes wild, retrieved his feeding claw, breaking the contact, and clasped both hands around his head. Making small whimpering noises, he went to the closest wall and banged his head against it. Then he sank to the floor and sat there, swaying a little, his back to the wall, his claws around his head, and his face hidden behind his raised knees.

The Old One released the doctor and stepped toward the sitting Wraith. He drew a deep breath, snorted quietly, and to everybody's surprise began to laugh. He laughed for a while, then walked toward the wall and leaned against it, visibly exhausted.

"He is in pain!" Beckett was crouching by the wall, near the sick Wraith. "It's not funny!"

"Oh, yes it is!" the Old One exclaimed, starting to giggle again. "Especially that…_ fluff_ on the top, and those dangling bits on the bottom. Put your hand on the top of his head."

The doctor did as he was told and saw… he didn't know what he saw exactly. Most of all it reminded him of an overloaded greengrocer's cart – all colorful, all floppy, every item different than the other, all in a perfect chaos.

The Old One made a face. "Maybe this part should go on the top," and the image rotated obediently in front of the doctor's eyes, "or maybe not… Oh, I do not know."

"What's wrong with him again?" Carson exclaimed in exasperation.

"The usual. He is greedy…" the Wraith sorcerer chuckled, then looked at the doctor and continued, "but not a very smart individual. We are a _sober_ race. Our minds are perfectly organized and… empty. On the other hand, human minds are very rich, although exceptionally messy. He saw your mind, and instead of carefully choosing a small token of appreciation, he tried to grab it all."

"What should we do?"

"Nothing. I am going to leave everything as it is. He will be a laughingstock among my kind for the rest of his miserable life." The Old Wraith looked at the genuinely concerned face of the doctor and added softly, "I will see what can be done."

-o0o-

When Dr. Weir walked into the corridor, she saw them as they were: the Wraith sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, the Old sorcerer crouching in front of him, holding his head with both claws, blood running from under his fingers in black stripes, down the Wraith's cheeks, down his neck. Dr. Beckett was sitting next to the sick Wraith, his palm pressed tightly to the top of the Wraith's head.

The Old Wraith released the head of his patient, then cleaned his palms covered with blood and slime upon the other Wraith's hair.

"Never, ever, do it again," he rasped, nudging the other Wraith in the middle of the forehead. The Wraith closed his eyes and whimpered quietly with every nudge.

"Stop it," Carson asked.

"Do you hear, what is he thinking now?"

"Yes." The doctor's hand made a small hesitant move, but stayed pressed to the top of his patient's head.

"You still want me to stop?"

"Yes."

"This bone here," the Old One nudged the other Wraith hard in the middle of the forehead, "is able to withstand the impact of a handgun bullet. But I will do as you wish. Now go, and take this imbecile with you. He is filthy again – make sure he cleans himself. I shall negotiate for his life without your interference."

-o0o-

"If either of them is harmed, I will demolish this place," the Old Wraith noted flatly. "Nothing but them keeps me from doing it right now."

"Dr. Beckett is a well-respected member of our team," Dr. Weir tried to look impassive. "No one will harm him. As for our prisoner, do you realize how devastating the practices of your people are?"

"My kind."

"What?"

"Practices of _my kind_. My _people_ do not cherish any _devastating practices_."

"Do you mean your people are not the Wraith?"

"That is the human word for _us_."

"What is the Wraith one?"

"It is not a speak-word anymore. When it was, it meant 'us'."

Elizabeth saw that the conversation is moving into the depths of the enormous dark maze of the Wraith's mind. She tried to pull back. "We cannot let him go."

"In that case, you should have killed him long ago."

"We do not kill our prisoners."

"You just torture them and experiment upon them. Then you kill them."

Sheppard was amazed at how emotionless the conversation sounded, only the small red patches upon Dr. Weir's cheekbones betraying her irritation.

"Your… kind kills millions of my kind with every culling."

"They do not kill humans out of sadistic pleasure."

"Can you stop it?"

"What are you asking me to do exactly?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"You did not ask it correctly."

Elizabeth lowered her gaze and considered her wording for a moment.

"Can you find any means to stop your kind from feeding upon my kind?"

"So you are asking me to kill every one of us?"

"I didn't ask if you _would_. I asked if you _could_," said Dr. Weir with a 'two can play this game' expression on her face.

"You are smart," the Old One smiled with visible pleasure.

Elizabeth kept looking him right in the eyes.

"Yes," said the Wraith, still smiling. "Yes, I can find the means to stop them. Yes, I can kill them all - not by just _wishing_ so, of course," he glanced at Sheppard, "but I can find the means. Would I? No. For they keep the balance."

"The balance?" Elizabeth felt like screaming, but her voice sounded icy.

"Try to understand. Nothing is more important than anything else. My kind, your kind, plants, stones, planets, animals, stars, bugs, strange beings that live beyond the curtain of the universe – all are equal. My kind understands it. People do not. Did you ever see the life of an entire planet wiped out with nuclear weapons?"

Dr. Weir moved her head slightly, trying to find the right argument.

"I did," the Old One continued, "at my first culling. People had built the nuclear weapons during our five-hundred-year sleep and destroyed themselves, together with the every living thing on that planet. I heard my kind thinking: 'What a waste,' but I thought: '_Never again_.' Consider this: despite the devastation that my kind brings upon yours, we never destroy any other life. I saw the worlds freed of people, I saw the planets inhabited solely by my kind – they thrive with the life."

"So your master plan is to unleash your kind upon mine, then let your kind starve to death?"

"That poses no challenge," the Wraith shrugged. "Keeping the balance is much more… exciting."

"So you do nothing? Just sit and watch?"

"I watch. And I do nothing unless I _must_. I quite like your kind, so I let them be."

"As _snacks_," Elizabeth couldn't believe that she just said that. All the years as a professional negotiator – and this! After the tiniest provocation!

"The last people I tried to kill for food lived more than five hundred generations ago."

_Liar! _Dr. Weir was glad she did manage not to say _that_, but the expression on her face was too easy to understand.

The Wraith sighed. At least, his snort sounded surprisingly like a human sigh.

"My kind can lie - make no mistake about it. But we almost never _tell_ actual lies."

"The one who invited you here _did_ tell the lie."

"What exactly did he tell you?"

"That your people feed you freely, and that you never sleep," Major Sheppard recalled the creepy smile of the Wraith messenger.

"Every word is true. They feed me, but I do not feed upon them."

"How is that possible?" Elizabeth saw the entrance of the dark labyrinth again, here, right in front of her eyes.

"It is a long story. I do not have time now. I am absent from my world for too long – my people will be _concerned_."

"My people are concerned right now," Dr. Weir noted.

"Concerns of your people are yours to deal with. Concerns of my people, as a rule, fall heavily upon other inhabitants of this Galaxy. So we do have a common desire after all: we both _do not want_ my people to come here."

"Is that a threat?"

The Wraith looked aside and was silent for a while. Then he continued quietly, "I could kill all of your people, if I wished so, and without any threats. I _do not_ want to harm any of you. However, I do not have time to stay any longer..."

"But I have all the time in the universe," Sheppard said, his hands in his pockets, "So let's have a deal – your _long_ story against the life of your Wraith friend."

"His freedom."

"I don't see much difference."

"I know," the Wraith's cold eyes were upon the major's face. "You are the one who prefers interrogations to conversations. You would not feel content until you saw me through the bars of a cage. So, shall we proceed?"

"No," added the Old One, "this story will be only for Major Sheppard."

-o0o-

The Old One halted so abruptly that the major almost ran into his back. John walked around him and looked into his face – if he wouldn't know better, he would say that the Wraith was scared. Or may be he was – he glared down the corridor, sniffed the air, and made a low animal growl.

"No one is there," said Sheppard reassuringly. "Nothing to be scared about…"

"You can not _see_." The fierce eyes of his opponent fixed upon his face for a moment, then the Wraith looked down the corridor and growled again.

"You know, it was your idea to spend time," Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "If you changed your mind, the Conference Room would suit me fine."

"You cannot _see_…" the Wraith repeated in anguish, and made the smallest step forward.

-o0o-

Here it was. The Cage. Empty, with its door opened, it had a rather dull look. But apparently not for the Old Wraith. Still moving slowly, he reached the entrance and halted, looking at something invisible to human eyes. Then he crossed the doorstep, and took a step forward, then another one.

"Close the door if you want to live," he articulated the words like an animal would, if it would try to imitate human speech with its snarl.

Sheppard did as he was told – the door went down, the force field gleamed like a semi-transparent blue curtain… and did not disappear. John could clearly see the bluish swirls floating along the cage walls, angry cobwebs formed in every corner…

"You have every right to be afraid of me," the Old One growled through bared teeth, and Sheppard tried to convince himself that the creature in the cage was talking to the force field, not to him.

The Old One crouched, pressing both hands to the floor, then moved forward on all fours, sniffing the air. He halted near the distant cage wall, fingers stretched wide on the concrete.

John saw the Wraith's back arching, his face turning up to the ceiling like a coyote's snout right before it howled, and pressed his hands against his ears. And realized that cry, agonizing and unbearably loud, was pouring into his brain directly, avoiding the ear route altogether. As if through the eyes of the Old One, he saw the Wraith. Hundreds, thousands of them. Hungry, tortured, killed. All blind.

"I didn't do it!" Sheppard heard himself screaming and opened his eyes. He was leaning against the wall, his right hand upon the X drawn in black marker right between Exhibits A and B.

"I didn't do it…" he repeated calmly. "So that's your problem. You think I'm some kind of fascist. But I killed just a few – in a fight, otherwise they would drain me…"

"It is the right of every being to try to survive," the voice of the Old One was quiet. He was still crouching on the floor, but he turned his face to see the major.

"So it's OK with you that I killed them?" Sheppard asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Here we had only Steve," Sheppard continued, "He wouldn't give his name, so I…"

John shook his head and looked again. The beast was still there – a fox made out of the bluish mist was observing him with its golden eyes. Forest clearing, fog flowing among the bare dark trees, the damp smell of the dead leaves of late autumn.

"He was way too straightforward for such a name," the major noted.

"What you saw was just your interpretation."

"He didn't die here, anyway. And… we didn't mean for him to die the way he did."

"He was lucky," the Old One noted calmly. "Death by starvation is the worst fate for my kind…"

"So it's OK with you that we were experimenting on him?"

"Yes. You did not know anything about my kind. You had to investigate. Knowledge increases the chances of survival."

"Then what's wrong?"

Silence.

"Why do you hate me?"

"It was not my intention to make it evident."

"So, you _do_ hate me. Why?"

"I do not _hate_ you. I despise and pity you."

"Why? You are obviously fond of everyone else. Rodney purrs like a cat…"

A strange creature appeared in front of Sheppard's eyes – orange, constantly pulsating, throwing tentacles in all directions, trying to grab and absorb everything.

"He is like a big child," the Old One said, smiling faintly, "very inquisitive."

"Elizabeth cries in public," Sheppard continued.

She looked like a well-cut diamond – all transparent, shiny, ice-cold surfaces, geometrically correct shapes…

"Carson goes around with the glassy eyes, and snaps at everybody."

Sheppard felt the sun-warmth by the sides of his nose, cheekbones, and saw Dr. Beckett as he usually was: trying to arrange the Wraith's pillow, jumping away in alarm, cautiously coming back, and stubbornly pulling on the corner of the ill-fated pillow again.

"What's so different about me?"

"You did not feel _sick_."

"What're you…"

"For a human it is _unbearable to see_ another being caged and condemned to death. Some humans do not admit it. The doctor convinced himself, that all he felt was a fear."

"That _being_ was the Wraith. Who knows how many people he killed before? How many did he put into those… webs, to kill later? How's that better than a cage?"

"It is not better. Or worse. If you plan to keep one of my kind as a prisoner – cage him."

"Then…"

"Nothing would change if he were your human enemy. It does not matter who or what is on the other end, because the other end _might not exist at all_. You should have felt sick. But you were _enjoying_ it. That cannot be changed – it is the way you are."

"Oh, I'm _so sorry_, I was mocking him, instead of hanging him from the rafters!"

"None of _us_ is sensitive or self-important enough to feel strongly about verbal assaults. Nothing is wrong with what you _did_ - everything is wrong with what you _felt_. You were _enjoying_ the sight of a dying being."

"We are at war! Hundreds of people die everyday!"

"My kind is not at war with you…"

"The Wraith are not at war with the humans, you're right! They just cull them, slay them like animals!"

"All things are equal..."

"Oh, yeah? What if somebody killed _your_ child?"

"You did," said the Wraith flatly, "and you are still breathing."

The Old One reached with his claw and pulled away the leather string which kept his hair fastened at the back of his head. Then he curled up on the floor, and lay there silent and motionless. The spot that he chose was no different than the other spots – gray concrete…

_Washed, and bleached, and washed again_… thought Sheppard. _Nothing could have been left_…

"He was trying to sabotage the city. I had to find out what had he done to our defense systems," he explained calmly.

The Old One didn't say anything; he wasn't curling anymore, just lying on his side, with his colorless hair covering his face. Then John heard him sob, or snort in attempt to suppress the laughter, it was impossible to tell from the sound of his voice. "The one you sent after me – never speak to him again. Next time you see him – just put a gun to his head and pull the trigger. He can talk the Genii into being decent traders. Do you know how he made me come here? He showed me the _name_ of your doctor… and this…"

Beckett's face, a pair of upset blue eyes: "No one can tell me _when_ and _what_ should I feel!"

"One would think your doctor is soft. His _body_ is always frightened, but his spirit is unyielding as the Universe itself. The one who called me here knew I would not be able to resist…"

"I thought you have an agreement," said Sheppard.

"I have. With my kind. Not with the humans other than my people."

"I thought he would invite you on behalf of the sick one."

"One would think so… But he is so very clever – if I am killed here, my kind is not to be blamed. I came here on behalf of the doctor and by my own free will."

Sheppard had the clear impression that the Old Wraith was sobbing soundlessly.

"He knew what I would find here… he knew that when I did… I would _tear this place apart_. It is so _difficult_ not to."

"Before you do," said the major seriously, "tell me the story you promised."

The Old One gave a quiet chuckle. "I dislike you. But your kind is very amusing."

The Long Story,

told by the Old One, while he was lying on the floor of the Cage

There are lots of things a warrior can do at a certain time  
which he couldn't do years before.  
Those things themselves did not change;  
what changed was his idea of himself.  
C.C.

To the Old One: "Did you show him the green glue?"  
To Major Sheppard: "Did he show you the green glue?"  
To the Old One again: "What did you do that for?"  
'Al' the Wraithling.

"It was such a simple trap. My people were _always_ so very clever." The Old One was still lying on his side, with the hair covering his face.

Sheppard saw a huge pile of logs – sliding, rolling – he tried to escape, to jump away, but it was always one log too many… Darkness swallowed him.

"I had found that planet during my previous culling. I did not announce my discovery to the others. I was on my own, hungry, and expecting an easy hunt.

"When I regained consciousness - and that took a long time, for my life-force was almost depleted - I did not realize how bad my situation was. I was surrounded by people… and they were not afraid of me. I tried to jump to my feet, and felt like something was slicing my throat. When I could see again, the people were still standing around. Their way to disable me was so simple and so effective, that my anger towards them was well counterbalanced with admiration. They were always good with metals. They shackled me, they placed a tight metal belt around my body, pinning my arms to my sides, and they put a metal collar on my neck. So simple – four chains, a razor sharp blade all the way around my neck… I was powerless to do anything about it. Four chains, four people, each of them could end my life by a simple jerk of the chain… Then I spoke to them. I told them what would happen to them when my kind found their planet. One of them came very close, put some primitive gun to my chest and pulled the trigger…

"That simply meant that from then on I was forbidden to speak. My people made me walk, then they put me on a carriage, pulled by a beast I never seen before, and eventually I ended up in a cage. In two cages, to be exact, one inside the other. My people shot me one more time, removed my bonds and locked me up. They did not know the field trick back then, but their solution was as effective – the full length of my arm was not enough to reach the outer cage. Inside I was forbidden to come close to the door. There were the other rules, and my people shot me every time I did something wrong. I tried to obey every rule I knew, for my healing took longer and longer every time…

"Death by starvation is a horrible fate for my kind. We are so strong and stubborn – it takes such a long time. First, your hearing loses its sharpness, then your vision, then you feel numbness all over the body, but even blind and deaf, one of my kind would cling to life like a tick. I felt so desperate that I wanted to howl, but I suspected that it was one of the forbidden things.

"Then one day my people opened the outer cage and let a man in. He did not resist. He was so weak and skinny that I did not know how he could walk. He was dying – I could _see_ his disease like bright stars all over his body. And he was poisoned – I _saw_ the toxic substance circulating through his veins. I do not know what my people were trying to do. Maybe to see what that poison would do to me?

"He was not even frightened; he just stood there, looking at me with an absolute indifference in his eyes. I do not know what I felt – he was totally useless as a source of the life-force, and the toxic substance would probably kill me…

"Everyone knows that my kind can take the life-force. But almost no one knows that some of _us_ can put it back. And even those few of _us_ who can, seldom get the opportunity to try this ability. We are misers about the energy – you misuse it, and next thing you know, you are dead. But I wanted to die, to stop the torture… I thought about taking the poison, but it was such a pathetic way to go. And also I thought: I will be dead and I will never know if I can…

"I grabbed the man and put my hand upon his chest as if preparing to feed. Even in my poor state I had much more life-force then he did. So I connected us, and just let it flow down. It was a most unusual feeling – my life-force fell down into his body like a waterfall, burning out the poison, extinguishing the stars of his disease. He screamed like an animal, but, falling to the floor of my cage, half blind from exhaustion, I _saw_ his body as dark as only a starless night could be.

"I thought I would die, but I did not. I found myself prone on the floor of my cage. Somebody was talking to me. I could not concentrate at first, then I thought how pathetic I might look, and tried to pick myself up. After a few futile attempts, I managed to bring my body into a crouching position.

"My guest was a woman. A small, pale woman with hair the color of dead grass. She was standing just outside the outer cage and talking. To me. I could not concentrate on the meaning of her words, but felt a strange pleasure to hear somebody's voice. We are social beings - we do not feel comfortable without contact with others. This world was too far from the common roads; I was cut of from my kind for so long. It was the master plan – to have the entire world for myself. Instead I fell into a trap, and no one could hear me and help me.

" 'They all tried to _eat_ my husband. You are the only being on the whole damned planet who was human enough to help him. You _must_ take part of my life as a gift…'

"Oh, how scared she was! Little, skinny, pale woman – but she was _huge_, like the Universe itself. She said something to the guards, and they let her into the outer cage.

"She was not sick, but she was tired, and her body was in chaos. I saw she could not conceive a new life – all the routes were blocked with some extra tissue. Somehow, I knew I could remove it without harming her, and it would give me some sustenance. I wanted to tell her that, but I did not know if I was allowed to speak. She understood my stare and noted firmly, "If any of those cowards will try to harm you, I shall trash every last one of them myself."

"The next thing I knew, I was crouching by the feet of this tiny giant, laughing my head off. Then I explained her, what I was about to attempt, and told her about possible pain and discomfort. She agreed. She was lying along the bars of my cage on the floor, and I was thinking – _here is the second human I am going to repair_. And that felt very odd.

-o0o-

"I succeeded in healing her. She was carrying a new life not long after I saw her. She and her husband came to visit me. They told me the news as if I was some relation – the loving uncle, perhaps. Then some other sick person came, and another, and some more… Word was getting around, and in a short period of time I was not starving anymore.

"Then the woman brought him… My child to be… My Elijah.

"He was dying. His body was almost totally destroyed by disease, and even if I could remove the cause, he had nothing left to hang on to. It was too late. I wanted to tell his mother. I wanted – but I could not. Women are the most special beings among my people – she looked at me, and she was so absolutely sure that I would help. She handed her child to me without fear, and I took him in my arms, and I knew that to keep him alive I would have to back up every strand of DNA in his little body…

"After that day, my people let me out of the cage. They let me live in some large building, where white lines on the floor played the role of the cage bars. They even gave me back my transport. Next, they dismantled the only Stargate in this world and hid the parts. We had an agreement – they would feed me freely, I would not cross the line without permission, and I would always wear this."

-o0o-

The Old One brought himself into a sitting position and pulled away the collar of his coat. Unnoticed before, a thin band of dull gray metal was clasped around his neck.

"You could run away." Sheppard was sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall.

"Why should I? After all, my wish was granted – I had the entire world for myself."

He lay down again and brushed his hair to cover his face.

-o0o-

"I dismantled my transport to build myself a lab, and now I was putting it back together. My people always had a way with metals; they could create alloys with almost any properties, and they put all the community resources at my disposal. I think they did not like me; I doubt they ever trusted me much. But everything I asked for I received, as soon as I could explain to them what I needed.

"Elijah was feeling well. To my surprise and delight he came to visit me rather often. Sometimes he helped me with my repair project – he was very serious about it, and could spend almost an entire day handling the various tools. Sometimes he was preoccupied with the projects of his own. We never talked much, but it was… comforting to have him around. And then I began to hear him…

"Oh, it was not what I had expected. It was not what I wanted. I thought it could be avoided, that I could keep my DNA backup dormant. But our phenotype is so strong…

"One day his mother came to visit me. She stood at the white borderline, holding a package wrapped in canvas close to her chest. I pulled myself from underneath the transport and went to the line to greet her. But I did not know what to say and could not raise my eyes to face her.

" 'I made some new clothes for you, My Lord. I thought it could not be very comfortable for you to work in your…' she hesitated for a second, 'outfit. You are about the same height as my husband, but you are much more… slender then he was. If something does not fit right, you just tell me. I chose the black as color, but if you do not approve – I will make another set for you.'

"She handed me the package, being careful not to touch my hand. She saw that I noticed, and said evenly, 'Please, forgive me, My Lord. I am still afraid of you. It is rather silly, I know. I wasn't afraid of you when…'

" 'You have every right to be afraid of me. And do not call me _that_.'

" 'I _will_ call you that, My Lord, for you don't have a name I can use, I am not about to nickname you like some sort of animal.'

"I looked at her determined, stern and calm face.

" 'Do you hate me?'

" 'For what?'

" 'For what I have done to your son.'

" 'My son lives. If it wouldn't be for you, he would be lying next to his father. As for… You gave my son the only thing you had in that cage – yourself. Now he is your son too.'

" 'It was not my intention to change him.'

" 'I know. But we will have to live with it.'

" 'Your people might never accept him.'

"The boy, who was playing on the pilot seat, got out of the cockpit and slid down the polished surface of the dart on his butt. He brushed the dust from his pants, and came close to talking adults. He listened for a while, then gently took my claw into his little hand.

" 'They never accepted me, anyway. First, because I was too small, next, because I was too sick, now because I have holes on my fingers…' Elijah looked up at me – his pupils were thin vertical lines in puddles of gold."

-o0o-

"He was still almost human then…"

"And then what happened?"

"He grew up, and left the world. I never saw him again."

"How did you get yourself into an agreement with the other Wraith?"

"It was only a matter of time before my little refuge was discovered. I felt how the thoughts of my kind were concentrating upon my world, and could do nothing to protect my people. We cherish many old traditions concerning the feeding grounds, but hardly any of them are designed for the individuals – we think in terms of whole families. It was my people who found the solution – as always simple and effective. They made me recite every law I knew, and found the one which could work for us… It was the law about the size of the family. A family big enough could claim the entire planet as a feeding ground, besides the random feeding grounds that everybody can exploit. This law did not specify, how many individuals should be in the family – only the size of the collective life-force. Hardly any family ever claimed an entire planet – the energy levels to fulfill the requirements of this law are enormous. It was a challenging time, both for me and my people. I checked the population of the entire planet for the _expendable_ parts - extra growths, scar tissue, body fat. By the end of this 'culling' I had the healthiest… and the skinniest people population in the entire Galaxy. I was so _huge_, I felt my energy-body touch the suns of other worlds and the very matter bend when I moved. Then I took my transport, went to the gathering and let my kind see my name. That was enough for them. They were so unnerved they did not even try to argue. The only condition they asked me to observe was the 'help law' – any one of my kind who can manipulate the energy freely is required to help the others. I find it reasonable."

"Can I see it? I mean your name?"

"It is not something to play with."

"It's the last part of the story. Finish it, and your Wraith-friend goes free."

Sheppard expected to see something animal-like again – maybe a polar bear, or a saber-tooth tiger. What he saw did not look like anything at the first glance - just the empty, dimly lit cell they were in. Next he heard the movement – every atom was moving ever so slightly, creaking as if under enormous pressure. And then the matter was breached – through the every pore, every crack between the matter particles something that looked as a greenish honey poured into this world. It looked like slow majestic waterfall, but bigger than Infinity itself, and so very _beautiful_. It looked like a gigantic green jello with candy-fruits of the galaxies trapped in it...

The major knew his body was squashed flat by the mammoth weight of this substance, his remains are drawing, so he didn't even try to draw the breath...

-o0o-

"You can probably kill me now…" The Old One was still lying on his side.

"How?" Sheppard asked without feeling any particular interest.

"The wall is angry and scared. It throws at me every dust particle it can reach. I cannot open my eyes. If you shoot me now, my body would probably explode." He was silent for a while, then continued, "However, you are too late. _My people_ are here."

The Wraith turned to lie on his back, facing the ceiling, his eyes shut tight.

"Do you believe in any God, human?" he said, and continued without waiting for an answer, "let us both pray to your God, that it is _not_ the Department of External Relations."

* * *

Elijah - is pronounced 'ay-lee-yah'. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV  
in which 'Al' the Wraithling punches the Old One in the forehead and does a lot of other highly regrettable things.

The basic difference between an ordinary man and a warrior  
is that a warrior takes everything as a challenge,  
while an ordinary man takes everything as a blessing or as a curse.  
C.C.

There is no race stupid enough to honor its best fighter as its leader.  
'Al' the Wraithling

"_Three_ Hive ships?" Dr. Weir asked in disbelief.

"Not exactly… At least, not the regular ones – these are almost three times as big," Dr. Zelenka scratched the side of his head. "And we don't know where they came from – none of the Ancient devices detected any activity in our sector."

"They are asking permission to enter," the technician announced.

"Elizabeth, you better stay out of the Gate room. Let's wait and see what they want." Dr. McKay frowned at the image of the three enormous ships on the screen.

-o0o-

They walked through the gleaming surface, all seven of them, three on the right, three on the left, one in the middle, forming a perfect triangle. They were tall and lanky, light-haired, dressed in the floor-length dark overcoats. The shoulders of their coats were decorated with bizarre ornaments - Wraith claws made out of golden metal. The leader was carrying a staff – a length of dark polished wood, a foot or so longer than his six-foot-something height.

"Is it some kind of cult?" Ford whispered.

Teyla was impressed, and frightened against her wish.

"Wraith..." she began with contempt, but her voice trailed away, "...lings."

For despite the Wraith-like outfits, the pale faces of the newcomers didn't show any signs of the grooves on the sides of their noses, their hands were definitely human, end even their light hair was not colorless, varying form the ash blonde to a straw shade. They walked silently down the Gate ramp, keeping the triangular formation, and halted not far from the stairs.

"March of the elves into the Helm Deep," Ford commented, and added defensively in response to Sergeant Bates's surprised stare, "It's a very good book!"

The leader of the guests touched the floor with the lower end of his staff and announced in very calm and clear voice, "My people have reason to believe that you are keeping our Chancellor hostage."

"What reason is that might be?" Bates asked, trying to use the same tone.

The Wraithling made a small move as if he was going to look up, but didn't. Bates looked up – forgotten by everybody, silent and menacing, the Old One's dart was still hovering in midair above the Stargate, its pointed prow is almost above the heads of the newcomers.

"That is the one," the Wraithling flashed a brief smile. "Sufficient, is it not?"

"Has he got eyes on the back of his head?" Ford whispered to Teyla, who was frowning.

"No," the guest replied, turning his head to face the lieutenant, "but I helped to build this transport. I do not need to look."

"Name yourself!" Teyla ordered.

"We do not honor that custom," the Wraithling responded pleasantly. "Speak-names are for those who cannot see."

"We should name you _somehow_, to talk to you." Teyla could not understand why the very appearance of this calm, pallid face made her want to demolish the man.

"Major Sheppard is not going to be happy about _that_," Ford whispered.

The serene expression on the guest's face did not change. "I did not come to talk. Not to you, anyway."

"Then you came to fight."

Wraithling raised his eyebrows. The _outer_ sides of his eyebrows, to be precise, which made his expression especially sarcastic.

"No. I came to retrieve my Chancellor."

"Your Chancellor is a Wraith. What kind of a race would follow the Wraith?" Teyla said with contempt.

"A race that could _understand_ one, of course. My people have a saying: 'It is easy to kill a Wraith. It is difficult to understand one'."

"Those are big words. What stands behind them?"

"Wraith psychology is extremely complicated..."

Now Teyla was sure that she saw a mocking twinkle in the ice-colored eyes of her opponent.

"You are an empty braggart. I challenge you. And if you are still on your feet in a minute's time…"

"You want to be killed by me, woman?" The guest raised his colorless eyebrows again – this time in visible astonishment.

"You don't stand a chance against me."

"Please, forgive me for saying this." To Teyla's surprise, the Wraithling bowed deeply. "But don't you _see_ that I am much stronger than you are? If you want to test it for yourself, you can experience my body some other way. We can dance, if we would find a musical consensus. I would be honored to make love to you, if you wish so."

Teyla felt rage clouding her vision, turning the world around her into a starless night, but the Wraithling continued, "We are a peaceful race. We do not fight for pleasure – only to kill. Besides, among my people those who could bear a child are rare and highly valuable. I will not fight you, woman. But if you want to fight somebody, fight the Chancellor - he would not hesitate to hit the woman in the face, especially if he finds her unworthy of a conversation."

Teyla gave a short laugh. "I already know that! You want your Wraith to fight your fights? So, he is your best fighter?"

"Who, him? A fighter? He is worse than me! Besides, there is no race stupid enough to honor its best fighter as its leader. Maybe some little pathetic tribe…"

That was _it_. Teyla was running down the stairs, Lieutenant Ford and Sergeant Bates by her side.

It all happened in a split second: the polished staff sliced the air in a wide circle, going to the ceiling with the sound of whirling helicopter blades. Everybody looked up, then down… One of the guests easily caught the staff and placed its end on the floor.

"Oh, shit…" Ford was lying on his back, pinned to the floor by the enormously heavy guest, the golden Wraith's claw ornament turned into a glove on the Wraithling's hand, a retractable four inch blade right above the lieutenant's eye.

"You shoot me and he is a cripple," the guest growled.

"What did _I_ ever do to you?" Ford complained in a strangled voice.

The Wraithling bent down to him, so his long ashy hair almost touched the lieutenant's face, but never took his eyes from Teyla and Bates.

"Nothing. But you are very cute; she might spare your life."

The lieutenant felt the low growl of the Wraithling as a vibration all over his body.

"Fighters do not _intend_ for the peaceful outcome to happen; they always think in the war terms. There is no race stupid enough to honor its best fighter as its leader. Not in a time of disturbance, anyway. Maybe some _little pathetic tribe_, but not a nation comprised of billions of individuals. The Chancellor is the oldest, wisest… and calmest of _us_ all…"

-o0o-

"What is going on here? Everybody pull back! Teyla, _please_! And you - release him at once!" Dr. Weir was walking into the Gate hall, followed by Dr. Zelenka and Dr. McKay.

The guest looked up at her, and Ford realized that the enormous weight that jammed him to the floor was dissipating, as if the body of his opponent were turning from solid gold into dry wood. The blade retracted back into the metal glove, and the Wraithling moved away with reptilian agility. He got to his feet, tapped his shoulder lightly, and the deadly golden glove left his hand and stuck to his coat as an eerie ornament. Then he absentmindedly reached with his left hand and took the staff from his companion.

"He must weigh a ton!" Ford was inspecting his ribs.

"Four hundred and sixty-two pounds in full outfit, to be exact," said the Wraithling, and smiled at Dr. Weir. "My Lady, you just saved me from the biggest embarrassment of my life."

Elizabeth walked down the stairs, taking in the boy's pale face, ashy hair, eyes so light that they looked icy, white eyebrows… For all she knew, such colorless appearance should look weird, but instead the young man looked shockingly handsome. She halted on the last step of the stairs. Even like this, standing the step below her, he was a good four inches taller than she was.

"What is your… How should I call you?" Dr. Weir corrected herself.

"You are not only beautiful, my Lady. You are smart," the Wraithling bowed deeply, even made some musketeer-like wave with his free hand. "You can give me a name, if it will please you."

"Elr…" Elizabeth stumbled, "Al."

"It is nice and short. I will try to remember it."

_So Dr. Weir read it too_, Ford noted to himself. _And this guy is too young to be called "Elr…" anyway. _

-o0o-

"Why did you bring your men here?" Dr. Weir asked, looking at the silent and motionless guests.

"My people have a saying: 'One who doesn't want to fight, comes with superior force'," Al the Wraithling smiled.

"So you brought seven people with you, and no firearms?"

"You are absolutely right, my Lady. This place doesn't seem hostile – I was overcautious."

He didn't give any sign, but six Wraithlings turned on the spot, and marched towards the Stargate.

"Take the stick with you," said Al quietly, and one of the guests reached with his hand and took the flying staff from the air, without as much as looking at it. They walked through the Gate surface, which dissolved right behind their backs.

"Are you telepathic?" Elizabeth gasped in astonishment.

"Telepathic? You mean, like a Wraith? To have no privacy at all? Of course not! The Wraith are a very _proper_ race, one of them would never hesitate to open all his thoughts to another one. I, on the other hand, seldom operate in realm of propriety," Al gave her a little smile.

"Then how… do you live without names?"

"I can _see_ you, my Lady, why would I need to name you?"

"But if we would be talking about somebody, who is not in the room? Your Chancellor, for instance? If I couldn't name him somehow, how would you understand, who I mean?"

"_Think_ him to me."

" 'Think' is an intransitive verb; it cannot take a direct object."

Al stared at her, his head cocked to one side.

"You can say 'think _about_ him', not 'think _him_'," Dr. Weir explained.

Elizabeth saw that the boy was suppressing a smile.

"Think about him for me, please."

She tried. Then she tried again. But all she could think of was an enormous hall, the painfully beautiful waltz, the Wraith's eye pupils dilating and narrowing again as he moved through the shadows and spots of light.

"He did _that_ to you? I didn't know he _can_… Can you teach _me_?" Al was looking at her with the wide eyes.

Elizabeth smiled. "If you only knew how _inappropriate_ that sounded."

The Wraithling blinked.

"Try to remove the picture," Dr. Weir suggested.

Al looked at her for a moment and giggled.

"I warned you, my Lady – I am not the most proper man you can find. Nevertheless…" and he offered her his hand in such familiar move, like some nobleman from a Civil War movie would.

"How do you know this? Don't tell me it was in my dream, because it wasn't. Are you reading my mind?"

"It would be unethical," Al remarked, looking her right in the eyes.

"It _is_ unethical," Elizabeth smiled wider.

"You are smart. No wonder your people respect you as a leader," the young man chuckled and continued conversationally, "That was a good example of what we call 'the Wraith argument'. Dance with me, anyway".

"But the music… We don't have that record…"

"_Think_ it to me," the Wraithling smiled back at her.

-o0o-

They were waltzing at the foot of the Gate ramp. Elizabeth was concentrating on the music flowing in her head, when she realized that Al was singing. Singing the same waltz, without words, in a high and clear voice.

-o0o-

"Thank you, my Lady," the young man bowed again. "It was a pleasure."

"You are a very good dancer," Dr. Weir replied. "If only I knew where the music came from…"

"I know." Zelenka was sitting on the stair-step - elbows on his knees, palms supporting his chin – observing the couple with visible pleasure. "It's from an old movie. Married girl fell in love with a nobleman much older then she was. It was their waltz." Then he added, with a helpful smile on his face, "He killed her eventually."

-o0o-

"These ships are not Hives," said Teyla, looking at the screen, her voice emotionless.

"I _know_ that," Rodney responded with a shrug. "Damned things are _three times_ as big…"

"They are the ships of the Shadow-people."

-o0o-

"Elizabeth… eh… could you please come here?" Dr. McKay was looking down the stairs into the Gate room. "And you too," he added to Radek.

"Say it," Al stated in a very calm voice. "I will hear your conversation anywhere in this city."

"We know who you are," Teyla halted next to Rodney.

The Wraithling rolled his eyes with an 'oh, not that again' expression.

"Every race in this Galaxy has a legend that is repeated almost word for word," Teyla was speaking to Dr. Weir, trying to ignore the guest completely. "An enormous ship came, and it dragged the Shadow behind it, and the sun was extinguished, and when sun came back later, it blinded everyone on the planet…"

_Namely, every moron on the day side who was looking up_, Al commented for himself in an irritated whisper, then noted calmly for everybody to hear, "That's what I like about the tribal people: they are so dramatic. What do you expect me to do, woman, fall to ashes? Whoosh…" and he made a gesture with both hands, imitating the descent of ashes to the floor.

"You are the one of the Shadow people," Teyla said, looking him right in the eyes.

The Wraithling was observing her with a calm interest. "Who are the Shadow people?"

"No one knows who they are. Everyone _does_ know, however, that they are worse than the Wraith."

"Teyla, you probably realize that there are some natural events that could be described in this legend," said Dr. Weir. "Solar eclipse, for instance…"

"We do not have a lot of technology, but we are a very old race – we know what an eclipse is. This legend is the same on worlds with no moons. This legend is the same on worlds with two or more inhabited planets – when the Shadow people come they take the light from every planet at the same time."

"But the sun comes back?"

"It does."

"Then why are they worse then the Wraith?"

"Everybody is afraid of them. They do not like technology. Sometimes they kill everyone on the planet, if the culture becomes too technological."

"Al?" Dr. Weir looked at the boy.

The Wraithling sighed. "Think for yourself, my Lady. How is it possible to extinguish all the light in an entire solar system?"

"As a rule, on any planet suitable for the human life, when the sun touches the horizon, it's already _below_ it," Rodney was staring in front of him with unseeing eyes.

"That's what I like about the people from the technological civilizations: some of them have very good upstairs wiring," the Wraithling shook his head in disbelief.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Weir was looking up at Rodney.

"I mean the solar wind. The whole spectrum of solar radiation. Visible light is the part of it. Back on Earth, light from the Sun reaches our planet in about eight minutes. Where we are now – slightly more, because this planet is farther from its sun. If somebody would come and… steal all the solar wind in this system, for us it would look like the sun is no more. And it would take a couple of minutes for the light to reach the planet again."

"Who would do it? Why?"

"It's an _enormous_ amount of energy. Fuel? I don't know."

"Is it possible to do it?"

"Theoretically – yes," Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "With our technology – no."

"Al?" Dr. Weir looked at the boy again.

"Everyone must eat," he said without looking back.

"You can _eat_ the solar wind?"

"Eight minutes of darkness never harmed anyone. Let's just say that my menu is not limited to the human life-force," said the Wraithling irritably and added, "I do not wish to discuss it now."

"What about destruction of the technological worlds?"

"It is not my occupation."

"What is your occupation, then?"

"Is this an interrogation?" Al's voice was calm, but Elizabeth sensed powerful currents beyond the icy surface of his eyes.

"Of course not," she said softly. "Please, forgive me."

"I work for the Chancellor," The Wraithling imitated the smile, but his eyes stayed wary.

"Are you his bodyguard?"

"What?" Al looked at Dr. Weir as before and began to laugh. "To guard him from what, exactly? He is the most dangerous creature in the entire damned Galaxy. I am one of his engineers. The Old Boy is not exactly a technically minded individual. Oh, of course he knows _how things work_," the boy mimicked the Wraith's voice perfectly. "But it takes a decent engineer to turn 'those greenish pimples interacting with this oily gas' into an ignition chamber."

"So the 'Chancellor' means the chief technical adviser?"

"The 'Chancellor' means the 'Chancellor'," Al shrugged, "the Head of the World's Council. But that is for the time of disturbance. One needs a daytime job too. So he invents all kinds of stuff, and my team builds it. He is rather good at it, too, but to understand _what_ he means is a major pain in the butt."

"Is he also the head of your army?"

"We don't have an army. We prefer to avoid fighting altogether."

"But if somebody would attack you?"

"Who?"

"The Wraith, if no one else."

"They are not that stupid. There are millions of them, there are billions of us."

"And how many of you are fighters?"

"All of us. None of us. We are a peaceful race. But as a rule, Wraith are poor fighters, worse even then we are," he glanced at the Teyla. "They are. Oh, yes – they are stronger and faster than regular humans. They are heavier. What else? Yes, they regenerate pretty fast. But _fighters_? Humans can fight for their principles, can fight for a pleasure, can fight without any reason or any hope to win at all. But no Wraith will spend more energy on fighting for food than he can retrieve from the food he is fighting for. The Wraith _dislike_ us, that's a fact, but we can't offer them any sustenance, so they leave us alone."

"They can't consume your energy?"

"They probably could, but it wouldn't sustain them. Father looked into it a very long time ago." Al noticed Elizabeth's expression and explained, "The Chancellor. He made us."

"_Made_ you?"

"He did. It is still a tradition in my world to bring every newborn to him for inspection. Though for more than a hundred generations he did not change a single atom in any of them. He created the race which looks ideal to him."

"I always thought that an ideal human from the Wraith's point of view is an inert blob of fat," Rodney commented.

"Of course not. Strength, that's what they are after," Al shrugged. "They don't even mind little convenient fights…"

-o0o-

"Perhaps, we should go now," said the Old One without making any attempt to get to his feet. "Remove the wall. Having it around is very tiring."

"I heard you can remove it just by wishing so," Sheppard said apathetically.

"Perhaps I can. But I do not want to start. For if I start, I will destroy the entire place and will not find the heart to repair it afterwards."

-o0o-

"How do you know so much about the Wraith?" Dr. Weir was eyeing the young man with interest.

"We share a decent portion of genetic makeup," Al shrugged. "It is difficult for you to understand, but they are quite magnificent creatures. Most of them are honest, straightforward, and unselfish. They are brave, patient and persistent. Do you realize that Wraith don't stink? At all? Unlike humans, who are always in the various stages of decomposition. And who contain inside food in the various stages of decomposition too…

"It is not morals that divide the Wraith and the humans – it's physiology. You can choose to eat animal flesh, or plant food – they cannot. But consider this: there is no animal in this galaxy which is able to produce organic matter from inorganic. If one day plants will decide to become a top of the food chain, there will be no more animal life, including human."

"But plants and animals are not intelligent," Dr. Weir objected.

"That does not preclude a desire to live. They want to live as much as you do, believe me. It is as horrible for them to die, as it would be for you. And if we would take the level of intelligence as a criterion, he," the Wraithling pointed at McKay with his chin, "should kill and devour all the rest of you."

"The Wraith are good, but they are not ideal. They are obligated parasites with a very narrow specification. They always live on the verge of extinction. Their numbers fluctuate greatly in response of the quality of the hunting season. We simply cannot afford anything like that – there are too many of us."

"Most Wraith we encountered were man…"

"Of course. We have a rather similar social structure, except we do not breed 'expendables' – people without faces. It is very rational for the Wraith to have a part of the society, which works as a natural life-force accumulator. If season is good – they help during the culling. If season is bad… the Wraith can decrease their numbers quickly, without destroying the intelligent part of the population. But do not get me wrong – unlike humans, the Wraith do not _create_ moral excuses to do the rational thing."

"If most of your people are men, you life must be lonely," Teyla smirked. "Unless…"

"Lonely? Tribal girls _adore_ me," the Wraithling smirked back at her and moved, positioning Dr. Weir between Teyla and himself.

"Most of my people are men – that's true. Women are rare among us. But two-thirds of the World Council is comprised of women. Men are genetically predisposed to make fast decisions, but 'fast' is not always 'right'. Men are inclined to fight unnecessarily. Women, on the other hand, by their very nature, are designed to look for the peaceful solution. I mean, normally," he gave Teyla a short glance. "We are a peaceful race. My people do not have wars among themselves, my people do not fight with the others. That is the reason why I would never fight a woman. You hit a woman in the face, and next thing you know - no woman in my world would agree to bear your child. And what's next? Go ahead and marry some… _tribal leader_?"

The next second, Al was flying. His jump easily covered more than twenty feet, he grabbed the dart's prow, and the next moment he was crouching on its very tip – his long overcoat hanging down like the bat wings.

And City of Atlantis shook from top to bottom.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V,

in which the Old One expects one thing, but finds quite another.

Warriors have an ulterior purpose for their acts, which has  
nothing to do with personal gain.  
C.C.

My people have a saying: It is difficult to understand the Wraith.  
But it is even more difficult to understand yourself.  
'Al' the Wraithling

The explosion was almost soundless: the walls of the cell caved in with a quiet 'whoosh' sound, and a gust of hot air tossed the Wraith's hair over his face. He didn't slow down.

"I could not resist," he noted flatly.

Sheppard shrugged. Hands in his pockets, he walked alongside the Old One, a bit to his left, and one step behind.

-o0o-

"You are a dirty racist," Teyla grimaced in disgust.

"I am merely a speciest. Our union, however pleasant it might be, would be totally fruitless." Al drew himself to his full height and folded his arms in front of his chest, looking down at her.

"That's fine with me." Teyla aimed the P90, and saw how both cannons underneath the dart's short wings moved in unison, pointing in her direction.

"I would not _fight_ you, woman," commented the Wraithling, "but I have no problem whatsoever with _killing_ you."

A shimmering beam fell from the dart, licking the floor where Teyla stood. She vanished.

"Nothing is as wasteful as a direct confrontation." The Old One was standing at the top of the stairs.

Major Sheppard walked past him as if sleepwalking, and took a seat on the top step – he leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his thighs.

"Ah, there you are," said Al and crouched down. "That woman was a _monument_ to your incompetence."

"It was not her fault," the voice of the Old One was calm and sad. "Part of her, which comes from me, was reacting to your presence."

"Where is she?" Dr. Weir asked with concern.

"She has joined her people."

"You…" the Sergeant Bates began.

"No. If I would mean the same as you do, I would say 'She has joined her relatives.' I simply sent her to the village of her people."

-o0o-

"That's all fine," said Al, who was still crouching on the tip of the dart's prow. "But may I ask – what are you doing here? You did not expect to see _me_ – that's for sure. Whom were you waiting for? The External Relations Department?" Al looked at the Old Wraith for a second and shook his head in disbelief. "Are you _actually_ waiting for the ERD to arrive?"

"I am _not_." For the first time since his arrival, the Wraith's growl betrayed his irritation.

"Perhaps I am not as smart as you want me to be, Father, but I am not _blind_. You were _happy_ to see the uniform, but disappointed to find _me_ inside it. So now I am _officially_ unnerved," the Wraithling stated, and jumped down.  
Ford winced and looked aside, expecting the loud thud of the five hundred pound body against the floor. It was almost no sound at all. The Wraithling didn't even roll to absorb the shock of his landing – his body came into a very low crouching position, his long wide coat landing around him with a quiet rustle, forming a black circle on the light floor.

He gave the Ford a short smile. "I can compensate for gravitation."

"Can the Wraith?" asked Dr. Weir.

"I am about to find out," the young man responded, looking at the Old One intently. Then he drew himself up, and walked toward the stairs. "Because I never saw the Wraith tell a _lie_ before."

"I did _not_," the Old One growled, and looked down.

"You are right," Al chuckled, and continued, "My people have a saying: It is difficult to understand the Wraith. But it is even more difficult to understand yourself. Apparently it is even _more_ difficult, if 'yourself' is a Wraith. So you don't care that I have to come across the half of the damned Galaxy to retrieve your bony ass. You don't care that I had to take people from my project. You don't care that when the Production Department finds out how many days behind the schedule the project is, they will feed me to Genii. Or they _would_, if I hadn't taken care of those damned suckers this very morning. And on top of all this I am dressed like a clown! Who cares about that, eh?" Al was walking up the stairs, high-pitched, hysterical notes clearly evident in his voice.

It was scary to see how fast his mood was changing. Al halted mid-step, then turned and walked down, crouching in front of the inert shape of Major Sheppard. "This one is certainly looks like as if he just saw the whole bunch of the green glue."

"Did you show him the green glue?" Al asked the Old One, then turned his head and tried to catch the Sheppard's eye. "Did he show you the green glue? Oh, I _hate_ when he does that!" Then he turned to the Old One again. "What did you do _that_ for? You want the boy dead – just snap his neck."

"Shut up," the major stated indifferently.

"I am four times as old as you are," Al's grimace was dismissive. "And if I find out that you are the reason for the Old Boy's wacky mood – I will snap your neck myself." Al turned to the Old One again. "All humans are little bastards, why did you pick this particular one?"

Silence.

"Do you realize," Al continued, looking at the Wraith, his voice calm, "what the ERD will do to _you_?"

"They will file a complaint," it was difficult to tell if the Wraith's semi-smile was genuine or not.

Al kept looking at him, still crouching in front of Sheppard.

"Again," the Wraith continued.

More staring.

"And they will draw _the line_ around me, probably."

More staring.

"For some time."

"For a _very long_ time – that's more like it," said the Wraithling with a snort, "and I find it to be a very good idea! Does anyone have something to write with?"

Sheppard absentmindedly reached into his vest pocket and handed him a marker.

The Wraithling got to his feet and crossed the last steps, then bent down and drew a semi-circle on the floor, about two feet in diameter.

"In!"

The Old One moved obediently, and Al finished the circle, closing the Wraith in it.

"Good!"

"What is wrong, child?" the voice of the Old One was calm and full of care.

The Wraithling screamed in frustration and punched the Wraith hard in the forehead. There was a loud thud. The Wraith's head didn't move an inch, and the concerned expression on his face didn't change.

"Never, ever do that again," Al nudged the Old One in the middle of the forehead a couple of times. Then he turned his back on the Wraith, drew a deep breath, and stated across his shoulder in a perfectly calm voice, "It was very irresponsible of you, Chancellor."

"What is wrong?" the Old One repeated.

"I'll tell you what's wrong… _Nothing_! I just got up one perfect morning to find out that you were gone. Without a trace. And now I find you here. Waiting for the _ERD_ to arrive. _Lying_ to me. _Lying_ to yourself!"

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I feel great. Just great. For the one who killed several thousand people not too long ago!" Al's voice turned into a high-pitched squeal again.

He stepped away from his opponent, keeping his back on him. The Old One made a small move, as if to follow, but stayed in the circle, looking helplessly at the young man's back.

"What was I supposed to do?" said Al over his shoulder. "They already had the working prototype. I thought we had some time…"

Silence.

"I am saying to you – they had the working prototype! It was too late to call upon your kind! Those damned maniacs could blow up the entire planet!"

Silence.

"What was I supposed to do? Kill them with a stick? The culling started way before its time, your kind is starving – I am not about to waste any life-force!"

Silence.

"I was sure we had some time… I was in the same sector, and stopped to check on how the damned suckers were doing – and it was there! The working prototype! I don't know how! There is no race stupid enough to trust nuclear power in the hands of those fanatics! Besides, no one possesses such level of technology in this…" his voice trailed away.

"Oh, no… no, no, no!" boy cried, shaking his head, looking at the people surrounding him. "I can't kill anymore today! I just can't! I am all dirty inside already!"

"I can help." The other Wraith was standing quietly at the entrance of the hall.

"I am not killing anyone today, with or without your help!" Al stated, not looking at him.

"I can help _you_," repeated the Wraith. "What it is in you should not be there."

Al eyed the Wraith for a long moment, then said pensively, "Perhaps, you can…" and dutifully strolled toward him.

The next moment, the Wraithling halted, looking down at the man who blocked his way.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Nothing. I am going to feed him, that's all."

"To whom?"

Al stared – at Dr. Beckett, at the Wraith, then at Beckett again. Then he made a move as if to look back at the Old One, but didn't. Instead he started to laugh, tears streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks. The next moment he was crouching at the doctor's feet, sobbing hysterically.

The Wraith carefully pushed doctor aside, and crouched in front of the crying boy, clawing at his coat gently, trying to unfasten it, his long talons leaving white marks on the black leather.

"Not like this…" Al got to his feet and quickly unbuttoned his outfit.

The Wraith inspected the boy's chest for a moment, then positioned his claw against his bare skin. Al didn't wince.

"He has tendency to… overeat," Dr. Beckett noted carefully.

"There is no Wraith stupid enough… Oh, I should really stop saying 'there is no', but this one is true. There is no Wraith stupid enough to mistake my life-force for a human one," the boy's voice sounded completely normal.

The Wraith retrieved the claw and cleaned it on his own hair.

"Oh, good. Never thought that to be licked clean from the inside could be that pleasant. Thank you!" Al closed up his coat without paying much attention to the bloody mark on his chest, then very carefully reached with his arm and placed his palm upon the Wraith's chest. The creature looked down and did the same.

"Brother, you have a capacity of a Black Hole. I thought I was about to explode, but for you it was just an appetizer. You wouldn't mind getting some more, right?"

The Wraith did not respond.

"What was it? That embrace you just performed?" asked the doctor in a cautious voice.

"You don't know? And you have a Wraith brother."

"For less then an hour," Carson stated defensively.

"You're right. Besides, it would be meaningless for you to use it – it's for those who can take a life with the _touch_. And it might mean just about everything – 'I trust you', 'I like you', 'hello – goodbye', or, like in our case, 'thank you – you are most welcome'."

-o0o-

"But you said..." Dr. Weir was looking at the Old One in pained disbelief.

"I said 'do not _cherish_'. Which is not the same as 'do not have'."

"Semantics…"

"Nuclear weapons are _forbidden_ for the humans in this Galaxy. The Department of External Relations would exterminate _every_ human on that planet. It was great luck for those people that it was him. He destroyed only the underground facilities, but left the surface villages intact. The Genii race is not extinct. They have no means to destroy their planet. Maybe the next time they will choose a different road, which does not include building those weapons."

"They wouldn't be building nuclear weapons if it hadn't been for the Wraith!" Dr. Weir exclaimed in anguish.

The Old One looked at her for a long moment.

"I do not know anything about the world you came from. But I know this: the best lie is the one you believe yourself."

-o0o-

"Are you going to stand in the stupid circle the entire day?" Al was eyeing the Old One with interest.

"The universe in which I do not honor my agreements does not exist."

"A bit old fashioned, but true," the boy smiled. "So, tell me now, what is wrong with _you_. Show me…"

And he reached with his right hand and positioned it next to the side of the Old Wraith's head, without touching.

Elizabeth could not believe that this pale face could be even paler. Even the boy's lips, pressed into a thin line, went ashy, and his eyes took on the shade of deep water under a shadowy riverbank. He slowly retrieved his hand and looked down.

"I still do not understand. Oh, I do believe that it was part of _his_ name – but it was such a small part. He is not exactly a young individual. He could have gone through hundreds of Exchanges… You felt… No one can explain _what_ you feel sometimes and _why_… But I did not know that you feel so _strongly_ about him."

"You never asked."

"You never mentioned him."

"We hardly ever talk."

"We talk every day."

" '_Give me that screwdriver, you bony ass_' is not the sort of the conversation which involves the mentioning of close relatives."

"That is a matter of opinion. I often have heated conversations which _do_ involve the mentioning of close relatives, well, of the opponent. And I never called you a 'bony ass'!"

"You did."

"I said 'to _retrieve_ your bony ass', which is, well, bony. I did not say that _you_ are an ass. Though I should, perhaps. Did you ever try to contact him?"

"No. I have nothing to offer him. I did not want him to be associated with me in eyes of his new family."

"You could just ask them. They would tell you."

"They would. And what would they ask in return? What they would do to him?"

"Than I will go and ask."

"What the difference would it make? The moment they associate my child with me, he will become a hostage."

-o0o-

"I can try to listen." The other Wraith was standing right next to them.

Al and the Old One exchanged glances.

"Too late," the Old One shrugged. "He is so quiet, I forgot about him."

"I can try. No one ever pays attention to me," said the other Wraith, looking at the floor.

"That is true," Al sighed.

-o0o-

Apparently, the Wraith was listening with the back of his neck – he put his head down and was slowly rotating on the spot.

"This place is very _bad_," he said eventually. "I cannot see nor hear properly. There are many of them."

The Old One and Al were eyeing him intently.

Finally Al shrugged. "Exchanges, Exchanges, Exchanges. If the Child is alive, it will be a major pain in the butt to find him."

He went to the Old One, grabbed him across the torso, lifted him with visible effort, and carried him out of the circle.


	6. The Epilogue

The Epilogue,  
In which the Old One gives away the Gifts and explains the Wishes.

Intent is not a thought, or an object, or a wish.  
C.C.

"What is with the…" and Al's finger draw an upward spiral.

"I am just trying to keep myself to myself. They have a machine which starts to whine when it senses me."

"Fry it."

"I did. They repaired it."

"Fry it again."

Silence.

"You just evaporated a whole block of the City! Why not the machine?"

"That was a _bad_ place. I could not clean it otherwise."

"They cannot _see_. They did not have a clue. And enough of this, you know it is bad for you…" Al stepped toward the Old One and took his head in both hands – one on the top, other at the back, close to the Wraith's neck.

The last thing technician saw before the world went blank was the pink life-sign on the screen of the Ancient device. It exploded, throwing off white-hot protuberances, blinding the screen. It looked like a supernova…

"Wha… what's wrong with them?" Rodney looked around in horror.

Every member of the Atlantis personnel was unconscious – inert shapes on the floor. Only Dr. Weir and Dr. Beckett stayed on their feet, and Major Sheppard was still sitting on the top step.

Al shrugged and went down the stairs without a word. And a moment later Carson's Wraith-brother followed him, looking rather lost and uncomfortable.

"Let them sleep," the Old One responded. "We are all tired. I just wanted to say farewell to the four of you."

-o0o-

"My people have a custom to give each other small gifts when parting," said the Old One, standing at the middle of the staircase, looking up at the four humans, who were sitting in a row on the top step. "I want to give something to every one of you."

He walked along the step to face Rodney.

Dr. McKay looked at the Old Wraith, his face going red, his eyes rolling, his jaw dropping.

"I knew it! I knew it!" he cried with delight. He got to his feet, tried to run, stumbled and fell on his face, then picked himself up and ran out of the Gate hall.

"I wish everyone was as easy to please," the Old One smiled. "Now you," and he walked to face Dr. Weir.

"I have nothing that you would want to have," he noted thoughtfully. "So I wish for you as few of _those letters_ as possible."

Elizabeth bowed her head slightly.

"Now you," the Wraith walked to face Dr. Beckett. "You told me you wanted to _see_ your new name."

"And _you_ told me that it's vanity."

"And _you_ told me, that it was unfair, because you did not even _see_ your old name. I think you were right. Look."

Wraith showed him the palm of his hand. Doctor looked at the deadly slit in the middle of the Wraith's palm… and smiled with his childish, soft, and kind smile. The Wraith closed his fingers with an 'am I good or what?' expression on his face.

"Now you, Major Sheppard," the Old One walked couple of steps and halted, facing the seated man.

Sheppard raised his eyes. He looked like a prisoner who knows what his sentence is going to be, but is too tired to fight or object.

"I dislike you," began the Old Wraith.

"You mentioned that already," even John's voice showed that he was beyond caring.

"But I _did_ like one of your thoughts. When you were talking to the one you called 'Steve', and later to…" the Wraith paused, then continued, "you kept asking yourself: 'Would _I_ be able to behave with the same dignity in the similar circumstances? Locked up by somebody who does not think like me, without hope, starving and tortured?'"

Sheppard kept looking, his face getting paler with every second.

"I _wish_ for you _to find out_," the voice of the Old One was a rustling whisper.

"Whatever," John said quietly and lowered his head.

-o0o-

The Old Wraith took a couple of steps down the stairs and stopped. He stood there, motionless, for a while, than turned to face the humans again.

"I do not know how to make you understand what I am about to say. I do not think you have enough life-force for such understanding. But I must say it anyway – I will feel… unfulfilled if I do not. Do you understand that the wheel of fate rotated non-randomly to create the present state of affairs?"

"I am not familiar with the term," Dr. Weir responded, "but I think I understand you. You are trying to say, that somebody deliberately created this situation?"

"Yes. Not '_deliberately_' per se, but yes. Do not look at me, Major Sheppard, I do not possess such power. You misunderstand the… mechanics of what you call a 'wish'. Let us take one of your weapons…"

"Let's not take _any more_ of our weapons," Sheppard interrupted, "we need them, and you'll take off somebody's fingers eventually."

"What I mean is that it is easy to make an explosive explode, if you can _see_. But I cannot _wish_ a happy outcome. I can wish _for_ a happy outcome, but my wish will not have any more power than yours. My mind is not empty enough. I have many concerns. Billions of them, to be exact."

The Old One glanced back, towards the Stargate. Al the Wraithling was pacing impatiently at the foot of the gate ramp, back and forth, like a caged Wraith.

"Neither could it be done by the one you sent after me. There is no single plot among my kind, big or small, where he would not be standing, if not behind, but somewhere in vicinity. He is too preoccupied with internal affairs to be interested in the _Infinity_. Though I think I know the responsible party. Remember where it all started?"

"It all started," Sheppard lowered his gaze, trying to put the recent events in order, "with the sick Wraith."

"Very good, Major Sheppard," the Old One smiled.

"But he is…" Sheppard glanced down.

The Wraith was standing at the middle of the gate ramp, observing the impatient movements of the Wraithling with visible mistrust. Somehow he managed to look clumsy, his hair covered in blood and matted again.

"Luckily for us, he is not a dangerous intellectual," the Old Wraith kept smiling. "He does not have any sophisticated desires. Basically, he has only one desire – to _feed_ himself. If he were a human, he would be perfectly round by now. But his mind is absolutely _empty_. He does not bother to waste his energy on conversations with himself, as many of us do, humans even more than my kind," Old One turned his head toward the doctor. "What did his name look like to you?"

"Didn't you see it?"

"I did not _see_ the same thing you did. I saw the energy. How did your brain interpret it?"

"It looked like an enormous flat surface made out of polished black stone."

"Very good. The mirror, then."

"Mirror?"

"Yes. Any _wish_ dropped on that surface is _as good as granted_. Infinity will bend itself to make it be. Fortunately, he is not vicious as such. He obviously did not like the Cage – and Cage is no more. Do you realize what would happen if he would say – I do not like these people? This City? This planet? This Universe?"

"How could we let him go?" Dr. Weir gasped. "He will endanger everything and everyone around him!"

"How can you stop him? You did not kill him while you could. Now it is too late. And he is not the only one among my kind whose mind is built that way. All of _us_ are similar to him. To a different extent, of course. There is nothing you can do about it. The only thing I can ask you to do is to remember this. You are at war with my kind. Kill them, if you must. Experiment upon them, if you must. But never, ever take hope away from one whose mind is _empty_ and whose _will_ is strong. My people have a saying, 'The howl of the Wraith can be heard from another Galaxy'. The universe is a very strange place. You can not even imagine what kinds of beasts live beyond its curtain…"

In front of the Sheppard's eyes the night starry sky rippled like old wallpaper, when mice crawl underneath it. He shuddered.

"Yes, Major Sheppard, yes. All sorts of beings can be attracted by the cry of utter desperation. Most of them will come with good intentions. _Every one of them will carry the seed of your doom_. It is not in my power to make you understand. I can only tell you what I _see_. Now, goodbye to you all."

He ran down the stairs and up the ramp, followed closely by the Wraith and the Wraithling, beyond the gleaming surface of the Gate, which dissolved immediately after they passed through.

And far above the planet, the Hive ships disappeared as though they had never existed.

-o0o-

"Where did they go?" Dr. Zelenka was frowning, trying the various buttons on the Ancient machine console. "They didn't seem to leave any trace…"

"Home, I suppose," sighed Rodney. He didn't even look at the screen, just turned around and walked from the control deck, and down the corridors, all the way to the kitchen, where a forgotten jar of chocolate sauce was waiting for him.


End file.
